


Noxians—I Hate Those Guys...

by Eve_LaBlanche



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Anal, Betrayal, Choking, Deception, Dom/sub, Gay, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, In Public, Light BDSM, M/M, Noxus, Oral, Piltover, The Black Rose (League of Legends)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-08-30 08:08:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8525371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eve_LaBlanche/pseuds/Eve_LaBlanche
Summary: The Prodigal Explorer, Ezreal, had always held contempt for Noxus and it's way of life. Since he hadn't ever gone to the empire, at least not for substantial amounts of time, he didn't have those many artifacts there—well, not nearly as many as from the rest of Valorian. His young and outrageously curious mind needed to find out more. There were plenty of Noxians whom he never understood, and maybe a day in the empire would clarify things. That, and there are plenty of archeological opportunities there. Even though he believed he was under the radar, it wasn't long before things took a strange turn, and he came across a man who wouldn't stop at anything until he got what he wanted, and the woman who was trusted by nobody.





	1. Sadistic Handshake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Heads up!** This work will contain the following:
> 
> -Explicit sexual themes  
> -Non-consensual sex  
> -Minor age difference (17 and mid-20's)  
> -Light BDSM/sexual violence  
> -Minor violence and blood
> 
> If you do not feel comfortable reading such material, I recommend not reading this work!
> 
> None of the warnings apply to this chapter, but you will be warned at the beginning of future chapters for those themes.

** Ezreal's Journal—10:37 AM **

_I was surprised by just how easy it was to get through the guarded Noxian bridges. All it took was a couple Arcane Shifts and I was inside. It's all skill. The guards are so busy thinking about keeping people out that they didn't turn around and notice I was already behind them._

_Now, I know what you're thinking: "Gee, Ezreal, what would convince you to go there? I mean, don't you hate Noxians?" And yep, you are right. Their political system is outdated, along with their entire lifestyle. I don't understand why they aren't already at war with themselves. Now, as arrogant and corrupt of a land it is, there isn't a reason why I can't go there for archeological purposes, right? There are millions of rocks to turn over and little, hidden treasures; I heard rumors that they have a labyrinth of dungeons with who knows what's in it. The idea's been sitting in this journal for months now. Within the last year or so, I made a couple quick stops to the empire just see what I could scrape off the top layer. For the most part, I found a lot of these statuettes that I wrote about earlier. But that's all I got to until the limping bird guy tried to get me out. I think his name was...Wayne...no, Swayne. Something like that._

_I'm not a soothsayer or whatever, but something in the air tells me that I'm in for something big. I dressed up with something a little darker just to blend into the crowd a little better, and I hope I get my hands on something worth keeping. This place makes me on edge. Hopefully, I'll keep you posted._

* * *

The marketplace of Noxus was a metropolis of its own. Left and right you had people of all walks of life, from street vendors trying to sell off enough goods for dinner that night to the aristocrats, with their chins up and stares that commanded everybody's respect. Contrary to what Ezreal initially thought, it was far from chaotic—everybody knew exactly where they stood, and which niche they filled. Those with power showed it proudly in their clothing and expression. Considering the way Noxians behaved in the League of Legends, Ezreal had assumed that violence broke out everywhere and blood painted temporary murals on the walls (thanks to individuals like Darius, Draven, Katarina, etc.)

The explorer, clothed in a brown jacket with a cowl to hide his face, treaded carefully on the stone floors. Just as planned, he blended right into the crowd. Had he not been walking with his face buried in a book as he walked, he would be any middle-class Noxian. He could barely make out the writing on the map; an hour before noon and the entire capital of Noxus Prime just seemed dark and dreary, especially since he resided in the almost utopian world of Piltover. If he couldn't see it, that meant nobody else would either. Nobody stopped to question him.

First and foremost, Ezreal needed to find the pawn shop he knew took note of the first time he came here. It was tucked away on the outskirts of the market, but there, he knew he could exchange his Demacian money for something acceptable here. He was hoping to spend a day or two here, or at the very least, an afternoon, and he'd have to put something in his stomach. Lunch would be in a few hours, so he'd stop by the pawn shop, where he'd get some spending money and then find somewhere to eat. According to his map, it was only about 200 yards away. Ezreal took his eyes off of his book for a moment to scope out the area. Sure enough, he could see the small shop obscurely in the distance. He was genuinely surprised that he was able to locate it, given the abundance of people in the square and the hazy atmosphere.  _At least,_ Ezreal thought,  _it isn't as bad as Zaun._ He didn't think anything could possibly as bad as Zaun. Here you could breathe without a layer of soot coating your lungs.

Like a needle, he wove in and out of the haphazard lines of people walking in all different directions until he made his way to the pawn shop. Much to his surprise and relief, he was not yet confronted.

However, there was one individual who had her eye on Ezreal from the moment she spotted him first and inconspicuously followed his moves. There was no reason behind her chasing other than intuition. Usually, people didn't go for casual strolls in a bustling marketplace to read. Her intuition rarely failed her, which is valuable in her field of work. Her eyes had adjusted to the obscure light and this young man she watched had a familiar walk—nothing she could pinpoint individually, but she knew it was from somewhere. If she could find a way for him to speak, she could easily determine the identity of the man beneath the cowl. And the decorated glove on his left hand? Another feature worthy of note. The suspicion had her biting down on her bottom lip. All she needed was a quick glimpse of his face; One way or another, a stranger in the walls of Noxus didn't last very long without chains on their wrists or open wounds. Her heels clicked against the stone floor while she started toward the destination of the little stowaway.

* * *

 "Welcome."

The old shopkeeper stood behind a showcase in the back of the store. His voice sounded like a piano that hadn't been used within the last century. His black hair was thinning out on the top, made evident by a barely functioning combover, and a round pair of glasses kept falling off of his face. He appeared to be unbelievably bored, like Ezreal was the first person he'd communicated with in eons.

The place in itself was almost like a playground for Ezreal, considering the eccentric yet all too enticing objects available for purchase. The walls were overflowing with artwork from centuries ago or mages' staffs with their glittering gemstone garnishes gathering dust or banners hailing a past leader. Aside from that, there were plenty of odd household furniture pieces, like a koi fish nightstand, an ashtray of a tangoing couple, or one-legged stool. There were so many random "artifacts" that Ezreal wondered if this was a true pawn shop, or if this person was just a person with a pitiful hoarding problem who figured they could make a living out of it.

"Hey." Ez barely recognized the sound that he made. Just being in Noxus mad his voice drop in pitch just so he wasn't mistaken as somebody who was "soft." He shut the door firmly behind him and breathed in deep to establish a presence. "I don't really know what you collect here, but I have these coins that a Piltie dropped...I don't have any us for them, so here I am."

"From Piltover, you say?" chimed the man in the back. "Why, ts'not every day I see that. And take a look around, I see a lotta stuff." He laughed hoarsely and rose, touching the frame of his glasses for closer inspection. "Bring it on over, will ya?"

The explorer, seeing that he had captured the vendor's attention, started over to the counter. From his pocket, he fetched a small leather sack and showed the money to him. "It's not in the best shape. There's about fifty of them here." To put it into perspective, in Piltover, fifty of their coins probably could earn you a gunblade at best, but a Noxian wouldn't know any better. They had halted trade with Piltover for years. "I heard rumors that with one one of these, you could buy a whole gunblade." Ezreal didn't like to lie, but they were Noxians; lying was probably taught in school.

"Really? I wanted to get a buncha stuff from Piltover once I get the chance, so now's probably a better time than ever...what's your name, by the way?"

"Uhh...just call me Ez. Whatcha need to know my name for?" The blonde tugged at his hood to better hide behind his hood. His identity was important to keep hidden.

"Just wondering, case you come back," replied the vendor, reaching underneath the counter. "How about I give you a hundred for it?"

As Ezreal was about to take the offer, he felt a chill run down his spine, like someone had opened the window behind him. When he turned around, there was a stoic, young woman dressed in all black. She had long hair flowing down past her waste in a braid and a veil concealing her eyes in the same shade. She looked like she had come straight from a funeral. When she spoke, the only part of her that moved were her purple lips. "A hundred? Why, that's a treat, Hans." Her voice sounded like the stinging of a bee and the bite of a cobra.

"Oh…hello, ma'am! Didn't hear you come in," the vendor greeted the stranger. The two exchanged smiles and the woman reached forward to shake Hans' hand. "Let me finish up with Ezreal here and I'll help you in a sec."

The comment made the young man freeze like a deer caught in headlights. He couldn't recall ever introducing himself by his true name for fear of his identity being divulged, yet this character already seemed to piece the puzzle together. Was he that renowned that Noxians knew him? Even then, how could he deduct so easily who laid beneath the mask? He pushed the coins forward. "I'm in a hurry, so if I could have my money sooner rather than later, that'd be great," he said, biting his bottom lip.

"Yes, right away, sir," Hans remarked, "I'll be back with it in a moment." With that, the man exited the room into the back room behind a black curtain.

"Oh, Ezreal," called the woman's voice, sounding no less awful than before. "You dropped a journal on your way in."

"Did I?" Ez turned around but the woman was gone, along with the journal he had been writing in. His face went pale. Was he hearing things? "Hello?" The vendor returned through the doorway and said nothing, not acknowledging the absence of his additional customer. Ezreal's eyes were darting frantically across the room. "Where did that lady go? She said—"

The man reached forward and held his gloved pointer finger up. He breathed out through his teeth and shushed the panicky blonde. "Shh…look around. Do your eyes deceive you, boy?" The voice that spoke wasn't the man's, but the one of a woman's instead. It was the same voice that the woman had.

"The hell…where's my money?"

The explorer grabbed went to strike the vendor out of anger, but to his astonishment, his hand went right through him. It just blurred his image and he suddenly began to disappear in the stirring atmosphere. "Hello..?"

The only reply was another maniacal laugh. Ezreal couldn't possibly call ten coins worth all of this trouble and made a mad dash to the exit.

* * *

On the other side of the city, lurking around the richer parts of the city near the capital, Talon lurked in his home. No, not at the Du Couteau residence, in the shadows of an alley. While his life might be dictated by the hand of Noxus, the stealing, lying, and cheating part of him would never be cleansed from his veins. Underneath that blue cowl was the same young man that resided within it before, with perhaps longer hair and more muscle. He silently read the expressions of several pedestrians, most of them clothed in either formal and shamelessly provocative dresses or in heavy armor. All he was doing was waiting for somebody inferior to strike and take something worth some extra spending money, but very few people roamed the streets on their own, making it difficult to pluck them from the crowd.

Then, he spotted a target, clothed in all black and a veil, grasping a conspicuous bag of money and book.  _How irresponsible,_ thought Talon, already rising to his feet for a quick job. She resembled a deer standing alone in a meadow. All he had to do was point and shoot as it turned the other cheek.

The woman turned her back and opened up her book, standing only feet away from him. It was almost too easy; she was standing on a stage while someone tried to take a picture. Silently, Talon charged full speed at the woman once people weren't paying attention.

As his knife cut through the air and was about to make a bloody contact with her flesh, the woman disappeared from sight completely. Her clothes, veil, and book vanished. "Think again," came a voice, one that he could distinguish in his sleep. The assassin cursed aloud: "Damn you, LeBlanc!"

"Don't make me blush, now," the matron replied as her true self appeared in the very alley he waited in minutes earlier. Seeing that his attempted homicide caused no uproar in the general public, he casually retreated back to his murky habitat. LeBlanc was laughing when he arrived. "You're smart enough not to fall for that."

"Ha ha ha,  _very_ funny, but I'm not in the mood for mind games right now," Talon spat back. "I'm out of money."

"One can never grow tired of a little mind game."

"Get to the point, LeBlanc."

The woman seemed disappointed with her acquaintance's response. The two of them had begun seeing each other at random in various parts of the town (not that  _that_ was any news since LeBlanc was able to be in several places at once). Sometimes, they'd catch each other in compromising positions, like Talon sneaking a redhead in through his bedroom window or LeBlanc's casual attempts at a  _coup d'etat_ , but over time, they found a silver lining in the end of it all. The two of them made for a quaint tag team of deception and thievery. Neither for nor against Noxian political affairs, the two managed to establish a trust for one another, even if that trust laid under the watchful eye of blackmail.

LeBlanc opened her cloak, revealing her that journal she had tucked away in a strap of her provocative outfit. "You'll never guess to whom this belongs."

The assassin said nothing, a result of his lack of interest.

"You know who Ezreal is, no? The blonde, archeologist kid? He's been running around Noxus trying to find a couple of artifacts to take home."

That prompted a reaction on the other end of the conversation. Talon stood up straight; Ezreal's pockets were always full of little gadgets and trinkets. Whenever he passed him on the Fields of Justice, he fantasized about what kind of money just one of his limbs brought him. It was probably worth more than Talon's net worth. "He's not going to be here for long."

"Now now, patience, Talon," coaxed the matron. "If I was trying to kill him, I would have by now."

"So...what did you do? How did you get the journal?"

"It's quite the tale, sit down." LeBlanc reclined onto her staff and let it hover above the ground. "I was walking through the marketplace when I spotted the fellow. I couldn't put my finger on who he was. I could tell he was going to the pawn shop, so I hurried on over there and entered through the back. I had my 'mirror image' sneak in and knock him out and sent her away to go change into that black outfit. In the meantime, I worked my magic and slipped on a disguise. I looked just like the guy, it was a laugh.

"The little youngster arrived, asking to exchange some of his Piltie coins for some of our own money. To make a long story short, my mirror image grabbed anything it could from his pocket and I scared him a little. The best part was watching him flee from me like I had a bomb strapped to my chest." The image played in front of her mind and she laughed dryly.

"Still waiting to see where I get into this."

 "Oh, how your words sting!" she cried obnoxiously. "Just wait, I'll get there. See this?" From underneath her mantle, she again revealed a small, leather-bound book with a ribbon tying it shut. "This is his journal." Rashly, she opened to a random page and scanned the page. "Check this out." She presented Talon with the page she landed on, which contained a full drawing of a Shuriman staff. "All sorts of treats. Not only that but…" She started skipping sections to the most recent entries. "Here he wrote his entire day's plans on this paper, and if he sticks to the plan, his location would be predicted easily."

Talon grunted, barely proving he was listening, let alone interested. "Still waiting…" he mumbled.

LeBlanc gave the assassin a gentle kick to the knee. "For goodness sake, patience."

"I don't have any left."

"I suggest you find some or else I'll get your big sister to reap the rewards instead." As soon as Katarina was mentioned, Talon was quiet and sullen. He glared down at LeBlanc but didn't say another word, to LeBlanc's amusement. "Mhm. Glad to once again have your attention.

"I have a proposition I would like to present to you. This Ezreal boy doesn't belong here, which anybody who knew of a Piltie here would unanimously agree. But, he's intriguing. He possesses lots of tools, discoveries, and power, things that the both of us could potentially utilize.

"With the journal's aid, I can predict where he will be, and here is where you come in. It's not a surprise that I'm not one for taking people down in public, no? According to his plans, he shall attempt to sneak into the underground dungeon systems after a visit to the archives in the center of town. You'll need to find him, and lure him, threaten him, or something. Don't be afraid to use your own diplomacies." LeBlanc closed the book and faced Talon with a facetious grin. "Take anything and everything you please from him. Beat him, scare him, humiliate him, and if you feel like it, execute him, but whatever the case may be, make it so that Noxus' name a virulent image in his mind. Whatever you manage to salvage, we can split. Publish. Sell."

Talon nodded to the sorceress and crossed his arms in contemplation. He had seen Ezreal before, with his blonde hair and childish sense of self. He had always detested him and in Noxus, someone like him would be nothing but a pest. "How come I'm doing the dirty work and you're just giving me directions?" he asked while leaning against the stone walls of a nearby building.

"Thanks to me, you actually _have_ dirty work to do. You wouldn't have found him without my help."

Talon chewed on the idea for a few moments longer. As an assassin, he had to be very adroit at reading people and picking up subtle clues in their behaviors. While LeBlanc performed better than most, he could see the truth behind the plan she was orchestrating. She wanted to entertain herself, but more likely than not, _she was scared_ —untrusting in her ability to get the job done. Witnessing a strong person in fear made him smirk no matter the circumstance.

"Is there something to smile about?"

"You have a deal, Emilia," he said stoically, reaching forward to take her hand. While the young woman seemed surprised at his sudden conviction, she returned the gesture and the two shook hands.

"Don't try and fool me, my dear. Very few ever have and gotten away with it. Vigilantes like us can't afford to stab each other's backs."

Talon's wry smile pressed on as he replied: "That's why we never turn them. That right, Emilia?"


	2. No Need for Formal Introductions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Heads up!** This chapter contains the following:
> 
> -Explicit sexual themes  
> -Non-consensual sex  
> -Minor age difference (17 and mid-20's)  
> -Light BDSM/sexual violence  
> If you do not feel comfortable reading such material, I recommend not reading this chapter!
> 
> Yeahhh...this is probably a "tad" darker than anything else that I've posted. Don't say I didn't warn you :3

Once Ezreal had left the store, his frenzy to find his journal had begun. It was just past noon and Noxus was still cloaked with an ominous vibe. Ezreal inspected every passing person to the best of his ability for the secretive thief he had encountered that morning. He didn't know her name, nor what her face looked like; all he had to go by was her artificial, metallic voice and her stark violet lips. There was very little else he could do besides find that precious book. Contained within its pages were every discovery he had made in the last couple of months, along with how he felt, his most confidential information, and his plans for the remainder of his stay in Noxus. Not only did he lack that pivotal token of his identity as an archaeologist, he now had no means of spending money or lodging for the evening.

With the sunset only growing closer, it was crucial that he find that book. Lucky for him, he was good friends with Piltover's best sheriff. Caitlyn was as gifted in sleuthing and capturing criminals as Ezreal was for scientific discovery, and the two held conversation frequently. She would come to him for assistance in collecting evidence, and after spending enough time with her, he knew a thing or two about piecing the work of different criminals together. He leaned against a brick structure and closed his eyes with a deep sigh.

He had to start with the woman in the store. He had a relatively sharp memory, so he combed his way through every line of dialogue he shared with the woman. He couldn't recall her saying anything other than "why, that's a treat," and "you dropped your book on the way in," but what was really speaking to him was the way her voice sounded. It sounded like a record—ingenuine and scratchy. The word "treat" also was something he found peculiar. It spoke to him in a way that said she projected confidence and saw herself higher than him. Then again, that could've been anybody in the Noxian Empire. Ez turned his train of thought over to the other person he met—the shopkeeper, along with that strange, enigmatic exit with the sudden change of voice. Perhaps he was the most important term in the equation and  _not_ the woman. The two of them recognized his full name without a formal introduction, which was perplexing. They must have known him from some other place.

Where else would a Noxian recognize his name than from Summoner's Rift? It narrowed down his persons of interest to about a dozen. With that filter in place, Ezreal concluded that the one person who would deceive him like so could be none other than The Deceiver herself. "LeBlanc," he spat as if her name was sour milk; she was representative of how corrupt Noxus was. Her profit was not through cash or fame or fortune, instead, her cash was the satisfaction of knowing she's made somebody's life miserable. He couldn't let that win.

He knew that around two o'clock, he was due to find something to eat. The tavern he was scheduled to stop at was just beyond the pawn shop where the incident occurred. The clock then read 1:37, giving him enough time to locate the woman and see how he could recover his notebook.

That evidence was enough to set Ezreal retracing the root he had sprinted after the affair at the pawn shop. While the incessant doubts of his own safety (thanks to LeBlanc's deceit) tried to caution him, the possible future of the woman publishing his work made him too angry to think it through.

* * *

 In his "nest" at the summit of the mountain at the heart of Noxus, Swain fixed his eyes downward at the empire.  _His_ empire. To think, he had climbed his way up the corporate ladder for what seemed like centuries, and there was no greater pride he'd felt in his life. The principle of hard work and rejection of mercy has placed him higher than any man, woman, or child. For those who were too lazy, or too weak to put their best foot forward, he did not bother to provide aid to them

From this high in the atmosphere, the haziness that clung to lower tiers were easily penetrated by the beaming sun. The looming window at one end of his quarters casts it's shadow all the way to the door. Just above the entrance was a clock, with it's ticking resonating throughout the room.

Beatrice, Swain's feathered companion, who was perched upon his shoulder, was the only thing to stir in the room. Even the man himself was almost frozen in his tracks. She didn't stir often, so when she did, Swain didn't let it go unnoticed. He heaved out a sigh, and by that time, he had already known the cause of his pet's irritation.

"I long to see the day that you greet me properly," the ruler said stoically. He lifted his arms to pull shut the drapes, which flowed from the ceiling several meters up in a red cloak.

"You and I have known long enough that a salutation isn't my preferred method of an entrance," the female voice replied. The voice did not surprise Swain in the slightest as if he expected a guest to arrive. He didn't see the woman to whom it belonged, was confident who she was, and where she lingered. "Shall I write you a letter in the future to announce myself in advance?"

"Don't be foolish, Evaine. Don't be childish, either. You're a respected adult, for crying out loud, and you insist on playing games with me."

"It's been so long since I've introduced myself to you, Jericho. It appears I've forgotten." LeBlanc finally rose from the chair where she resided, facing the mural of the map of Valoran on the eastern wall. She waltzed over to the royal blue runner that stretched from the door all the way to the desk at the adjacent end. The smile on her lip had an unfeigned smile. "Well, I may as well try, no?" The matron nodded her head slightly, in her rendition of a bow. "Pleasure to see you again, Swain."

"Have you a reason to be here?" This prompted LeBlanc's smile to fizzle out, as her efforts had gone unappreciated. "That is, other than a good laugh?"

The sorceress leaned onto her staff idly, giving the impression that she was deep in thought. "I may," she coaxed. "Though you should have some clue as to the affairs of the city."

"I have enough duties to keep me busy and get the feeling that what you're presenting to me has little face value. What kind of monkey business has The Black Rose cooked up this time?"

"Shame on you. Think you that _we've_ forgotten where you came from? The Black Rose bloomed very recently. You should not worry about us unless _you've_ forgotten _your_ roots."

Swain turned his back to his guest and returned to gazing out his window. "Hm. Why don't you tell me what's taking place instead of doubting my fidelity."

"There's a trespasser among us," LeBlanc vaguely stated. She passed the desk and cast away a portion of the drapes so she could peek out the window herself. "From the League of Legends, the Piltoverian boy, Ezreal. He was able to bypass the guarded entrance to the capital and walks among us now. I do not believe executive action is required, for I've already sweet-talked the Du Couteau boy into scaring him away. But I'll keep you included in the affair, should we want to make an example of the boy to those who dare endeavor to defy us."

Swain's face, unmoved, stared vacantly into the crowds below, gears turning in his mind. "Can you be so sure that he confides in you?"

"He considers himself and me to be 'vigilantes,' enemies of sovereignty and fascism. He claims that because he never turns his back to me, he'll never end up stabbed. How foolish is he?"

"Sadists never wind up intelligent. In order to venture off a beaten path, one must've been on that path, to begin with. Now, he runs as a puppet…a tool to our military, hell bent on seeking revenge on he who lead to his master's disappearance."

"Remember you not 'twas _she_ who conducted the vanishing act?" LeBlanc chuckled to herself and pressed a hand to her heart in pride. "When somebody acquires more power than they deserve, it's the duty of The Black Rose to change history."

"I hope you remember just how vulnerable you are, now that I serve as the empire's leader. If I were in your shoes, I'd be afraid of government intervention." With The Black Rose's existence unknown to almost all of the Noxian empire, it was a predicament that the leader, being a formal leader of the cult himself, was aware of it and feared its rise would bring influence to the government there. Yet, the two of them kept each other in check, just as LeBlanc "supposedly" did the same with Talon.

"We're friends, no? I know compassion isn't your forte and I shouldn't rely on your _loyalty_ as a security blanket. Just keep in mind that you never really know if I hold the winning hand for the Black Rose. Much has happened since your departure. You don't know what we're capable of anymore. The Black Rose has made it's grand revival." She heaved out a breath to fog up the glass, and with her thornlike nails, she illustrated the rose of her cult. Each curve, leaf, and petal was carved to perfection, for she'd drawn the mark many times. "Had you not left, you, I, and the members of our organization would rule. Together." LeBlanc turned her eye to size up the general's expression, not that she needed to. She hadn't seen his mouth create an emotion in her years of knowing her.

"I'm a leader, not a villain, Evaine," he chided. "This nation needs not a villain to give guidance. The Black Rose shall not cross that line. I know what these people need." The dictator looked down at his distorted leg. "Discipline and freedom from surrender. Look where it has brought me."

"Suit yourself," replied the matron. "I'll have you know, however, that Ezreal has potential to tip the scales for you, and for us. Dozens of archaeological breakthroughs, Piltoverian innovation, so much more. I won't fork him over for free."

"We can negotiate all of this after we... _I_  have him in custody." Swain, on his limping leg, headed back to the desk chair, becoming less concerned with the woman's politics. "And I do not want Talon to be getting anything out of this."

She replied with a poisonous laugh. "Don't be ridiculous. He's made a mistake placing his trust in me."

* * *

Down in the poorer neck of the woods on the outskirts of the retail district, the world was vastly different from Swain's quarters at the peak. One's ears could never rest in such a place, between the heckling and gossiping of pedestrians and the sounds of their feet, to the sound of the city itself—the clock groaning at the top of each hour, blacksmith's hammers battering against metal, and even the subtle sound of occasional winds from the east.

Talon had his elbows propped up against the corner of the bar. LeBlanc had provided him with the journal that she'd taken as a treasure map. Ironically, Talon had no more venturing to do, for his "x" that marked the spot would come and find  _him._ Almost too easy. The clock read 1:55, which meant that if Ezreal would be here any minute. The idea of getting his hands on Piltoverian technology made him smile. At the time, people were willing to pay almost  _anything_ for a gunblade.

In the meantime, Talon was taking the time to read through some of Ezreal's entries in the book. Sadly, none of it really meant anything to him, since all of the material required more context in order to understand what was happening. He took a special interest in reading what some of Ezreal's more "emotional" entries held, like when he expressed contempt for Noxians, his small crush on Lux, and frustration whenever he lost poker to Twisted Fate.

Very few entries mentioned his visit to Noxus, except for the most recent one. After several minutes of digging, he had found one:

**Excerpt From Ezreal's Journal—11:28 PM, Fourteen Days Earlier**

_Jayce let me into the library past hours again. Gotta give him a hand. He's so good to me...who doesn't adore him?_

_I did a lot of digging tonight, mostly Shuriman stuff, but I really didn't find anything I didn't know. I've been to the site a few times, so I know what's up there...sorta._

_Weirdly enough, the library has a lot of stuff on Noxus, which is interesting, since I don't know too much about it. I've only gone once or twice. I plan on going again soon, but this time, for longer. Here I'm gonna write my findings on Noxus' history from tonight..._

His attention diverted as the clock at the opposite end of the room tolled thrice. He placed his book on the counter and wrapped his fingers around the bottle of beer he'd been sipping at for the last quarter hour. It was his second one; Talon was a little dizzier than he was before, but not intoxicated enough to impair his judgment. With nobody to hide from in his favorite tavern, he had his hood down completely and his straight, brown hair fell freely down to his shoulders.

The tavern was eerily quite after the clock had gone off. In the room, there were only three other people that Talon could see, none of which he recognized. All of them were smoking at the opposite end of the bar, but the stench made its way over to him. "It's such a nuisance, smokers," he mumbled. "Wish the little bastards would take 'em outside." The men looked up at him but didn't budge. They continued to puff away at their cigars and converse in a language the assassin didn't know. The bluish-grey smoke swirled around, making the distorted glass of the windows even harder to see through, but not impossible.

While Talon was observing the vapor, he spotted a short figure on the opposite side of the glass, clothed in a brown, leather hood that seldom covered his full head of blonde hair. Talon's eyes perked up slightly as the person of interest rounded the corner and extended his hand for the tavern's entrance. The door creaked open in and in walked a short, slender young man. Talon recognized the individual as Ezreal right away. Rarely did a person of his age show up to a tavern. There were no laws or restrictions on the consumption of alcohol, but only the desperate vendors sold drinks to people under eighteen.

The explorer's eyes went immediately to the group of three at the opposite end, the source of the pungent smell that filled the air, but seeing no books nor satchels to carry them in, the spotlight fell on Talon. Though his identity was unknown to the teen, right beside him was the faded leather that matches his diary.

Though both of them had what they sought out in their sights, they didn't react yet and blow their cover. Instead, Ezreal made his way silently over to a barstool, wading through the other tables in front of him. He parked himself on the barstool on Talon's right with his eyes veiled by his hair and the hood.

Unlucky for him, the bartender was able to take a guess at his age before he was even able to speak. "Hey, blondie," he interjected with a deep, scratchy voice. "No minors at the counter." The explorer fell silent; how was he supposed to negotiate his book back if he couldn't even sit at the bar?

"Don't worry about Ez, he's legal," Talon replied back to break the silence, to Ezreal's surprise. "Turned eighteen last month, he's a friend of my sister. Why don't you get him a nice scotch? On me." With the element of surprise, he knew he would have the upper hand while the Piltoverian boy took a moment to process. Ezreal turned his attention and made a chilling eye contact with the man, who he still could not recognize.

"How do you know my name? Have we met?"

"We have," he responded bluntly, and to the blonde's dismay, he didn't elaborate further.

The bartender returned promptly with Ezreal's drink. Having never drunk before, the teen's eyes stared petrified at the concoction as if it were straight up poison. 

"You better drink that up, "the assassin said with a devious smile, making him think like the deceiver herself. "I'm paying last week's salary for that."

His mind was flooded with questions, which the only answers he could offer to them were more questions. If LeBlanc still had his journal, then this must be LeBlanc in disguise. There also came the possibility that this man was one of her accomplices, but it was nearly impossible to distinguish which was the truth. Nonetheless, the man had bought Ezreal a drink, so he thought it would only be polite to at least "act" like he was drinking it. He speculatively watched the glass and hesitantly cupped a hand onto it under Talon's probing eyes. Only when the man huffed out a sigh did Ezreal bring the glass to his coral lips. The scent of the liquid was like a thousand matches being lit right in front of his face and he already felt his head becoming dizzy. "I never had scotch before," remarked the blonde, but that didn't release him from Talon's imprisoning stare.

Ezreal barely let the glass tip enough for the foul liquid to fall into his mouth. The venom made his tongue feel numb and the taste made him gag in an instant. He spat the putrid drink out in anguish; only then did Talon express an emotion again, with his familiar snicker. "It's an acquired taste."

Following that came another painful silence from their two sets of lips. The other men had vanished from where they congregated earlier, the only evidence of their existence being the clouds of smoke still billowing in the tavern walls. Even the bartender, with his tendency to keep an eye out for any strange occurrences, was out of sight, leaving Ezreal and Talon in the room alone. The fact that the journal was mere inches from his grasp made his heart sink; within that book was information that could easily be forged and distorted to a degenerate's advantage. Now, without any spectators, all he needed to do was fire a beam of energy at Talon to spook him, take the book, and run for his life.

There wasn't a need for any more small talk or mind games, so Ezreal acted purely on impulse. In his hand was the pricey drink that he didn't intend to drink. At his feet were the rungs of a wobbly barstool. In his mind was the image of getting home, to the safety behind Caitlyn's infallible shot—to the happiness of exchanging letters with the blonde Demacian girl—to the lighthearted rivalry between him and Ekko. He longed to be out of this place, for his curiosity was countered by the malice behind Noxian gates. Without further ado, the plan was set into motion. Ezreal took a final glance at the disgusting beverage before violently emptying the contents onto Talon. Before the man had time to shout his obscenities, he gave a good stomp onto the weak barstool that Talon was perched on. It toppled beneath the man's weight and he fell backward, his head narrowly missing the corner of a table behind him. He punctuated the affair with a loud "Shit!"

There was Ez's opening. He leaped from his own stool and carelessly tossed glass to the floor. He swiped the journal off of the counter and hugged it against his chest beside his heart. "Mine," he said childishly, smiling deviously as Talon had before. Talon's backside rang out in pain from the fall, but he wasn't gonna let his victim get away without a scratch. Or ten. As the blonde began his flight out, Talon's hands clamped down on his right foot. That brought him down just as fast. With his arms tucked into his chest, the boy fell hard onto his chin; he was lucky he didn't clip his tongue.

He remembered that Vi had told him that if he were ever being attacked, keep calm and get the perpetrator hard in the nose. It was only five times better now that he had a boot instead of a tiny fist. He thrashed in desperation, but from his stomach, he looked back and managed to line up his leg to strike Talon directly onto the bridge of the nose. There was a satisfying thud and the mercenary growled, his prey slipping through his fingers.

Ezreal fled as fast as his legs would possibly carry him. He disappeared into the swarm of people. Swarm—that was a fitting metaphor for Noxus—a swarm of bees, serving their one, sovereign, queen bee, and they're a buzzing, sadistic cloud, with no freedom to do against their legal obligation. They don't care who gets destroyed in their wake—or it they do, it's considered a weakness. The daunting part of the affair was that Ezreal still had no clue whom he was running from. How many knife-wielding, long brown haired, terribly muscular men were there in Noxus? And there was still the possibility that it could have been LeBlanc...who was everywhere yet nowhere at once.

Through the sprawling city's overcrowded streets, Ezreal ran only for a couple of minutes before slipping into an alley, no more than four feet wide, beside another tavern to the left and an abandoned bakery to the right. He wheezed persistently to catch his breath again—he only ran for about a couple minutes, but having not eaten for a few hours, he felt terribly nauseous. He collapsed onto the tavern wall and sunk down to his knees, exhaustedly.

He knew that this rest was only temporary and now that he'd committed a crime, he was probably being pursued by  _someone,_ be it the stranger who knew too much for comfort or the bartender himself for breaking that glass and the stool, too. Other than catching his breath, he took this time to skim through his journal and make sure the thief hadn't stolen any pages from his precious book. Upon seeing no tears or rubbed-out drawings or notes, Ezreal was able to ease up, finally. He knew that an expedition to this belligerent beehive was dangerous, but that was part of the excitement. What good is a journey that  _doesn't_ jeopardize your life at least a little?

If only Ezreal had knocked on wood for that one.

As he shut his book and tucked it away into his satchel, a shadow had crossed over his body. That shadow outlined a heavily built man wielding two blades, roughly the length of Ezreal's head. He could hear his breaths like snarls from above him and when he stared up to match a face to the sound, he was greeted by an unforgiving, vindictive grimace. Traces of blood were present underneath his nose.

"Usually, people who cross me know to try a little harder than _this_ to get away," the figure spat. The silhouette began to consume Ezreal while he closed in on him. Sadly, the alley only had one entrance, so even if Ezreal summoned the energy to run again, there was nowhere for him to go.

The shining of the blades made Ezreal's face grow pale. "Look, p-pal, I don't even know you. I'm not looking for trouble, all I wan—"

"Not looking for trouble? Little kids like you shouldn't be running around these streets, especially stuck-up Pilties like you."

"Get away from me! I don't even know you, and what I do is none of your business!"

"You know me," mumbled the assassin. "Talon. I serve the Du Couteau household. Lots of blood, lots of pain. You must know my name?"

The puzzle finally fell into place. Ezreal  _knew_ there was something about this guy that he despised (other than the fact that he was a Noxian.) He knew him from the Leauge of Legends, notably because he could recall his condescending being the last things he would hear before he was wiped off the map. There were very few people he truly feared and the Du Couteaus were on that list. The blonde swallowed hard and nodded. "This isn't an arena, kid," Talon continued. "The moment my blade hits your neck, it's the end of the line. No respawning, no bullshit. Do you hear me?" A fearful nod was his response. "But...you're a kid, so I guess it's unfair of me to cut your life  _this_ short. Besides, I'm sure you're good for something, with all those doodles in your notebook." Ezreal's lips and body were as stiff as a mannequin. "Are you gonna quit being a coward and look me in the eye? Give me a 'yes sir,' when I ask you something? Or should I just slaughter you before you waste any more Noxian oxygen hyperventilating?"

At first, Ez was still, unsure of how to respond to such a request. Hardly ever was he required to treat someone to such an obsequious degree, even if his life had depended on it. He scrambled clumsily to his feet while a begrudging voice replied: "Yes, sir... don't kill me...sir."

Acquiring such power over the younger male was something that became quickly addictive. For years, Talon had no choice but to give his respect to the Du Couteaus. Suddenly, he had such control over the Piltoverian prodigy, thanks to the looming threat, that if he asked him to wash the floors with his hair, he probably would. He could as him anything. Hearing somebody refer to him as "sir" made his fingertips tingle with anticipation, and the sensation spread all over his body. Meanwhile, his enigmatic stare tainted the purity of Ezreal's blue irises. He didn't want to kill him anymore with this new source of entertainment. "I want your diary back. And your glove—the left one, that way you won't be able to shoot me." The twin blades in either hand comically spun between the bearer's fingers.

Ezreal looked beyond Talon's shoulder, hoping that somebody would see his situation and come over to his aid. There was nobody there. HIs hand pried the garment off of his wrist, unhooking the little straps until the accessory laid limply in his other hand. His only means of self-defense was already being taken away from him. Perhaps more important than even the glove was his cherished journal, which he'd have to forsake once more to the Noxians. The thought of losing it again made his fists clench in truculence.

Talon was well aware of the new, aggressive fire in the teenager's eyes and was eager to quench it. "I don't like waiting. Don't make me take it from your rotting corpse."

The glimmering metal in Talon's hands was a horrific reminder of how compromised Ezreal was, quite literally forced into a corner. The book that he embraced was let fall to the broken cobblestone beneath his feet. The blonde's eyes trembled in their sockets. "I promise, sir, if you let me be, I'll go back home now. You won't ever see me again."

"Ask me to leave you alone once more and I'll personally return your contents to Piltover in a basket." The longer Talon gazed at Ezreal, the more he resembled one of his former... "partners." A girl by the name of Agnes. Her wavy blonde hair fell just past her shoulder blades in bleach-blonde waves. Her eyes were the same distinct blue that Ezreal's were in nearly perfect circles on her face. Her cheeks were always garnished with a pink blush, it seemed, for her skin was so soft and pale. She had a small stature and limber frame, even in the spots someone would call her assets. There was not a blemish on her body. Her amiable disposition made it so easy for him to get her embarrassed and seduce her straight to his sleeping quarters. He had never figured out what had happened to the girl. He hadn't seen or heard from her in years; suddenly, he saw her in the young man whom he was forcing into submission with words alone. Ezreal even was beginning to blush in the same way she had after Talon had stared at him for long enough. He returned one knife to its home in a sheath among his other. The calloused palm ascended to the boy's gentle jawline, to impel him to lock eyes once more. Talon was never one to romanticize anything; he was a man of impulse and bursts of passion, just like his "sister." The particular impulse evoked a desire he'd turned his eye to for a few months now.

Talon's fingertips pressed firmer into the boy's jaw, eliciting a small whimper out of him, like a dog being scolded for bad behavior. He'd have to use that at some point. His hand enticed Ezreal forward, pulling him out of his mannequin mold. All the while, Talon, in turn, leaned into the boy's quivering lips, which felt like silk against his own chapped ones. Ezreal's heartbeat could be felt in them whilst the blood rushed to his head. There were so many temptations he ached to succumb to in his new pet—his new play thing.

While the aggressor had inexpressive satisfaction from the gesture, Ezreal was in hell. Talon's taunting words echoed in his head and his fettering grasp suffocated him. Disgust, confusion, and fright were among the emotions that whirled in his head. The kiss was not just a kiss, but a cruel, ironic symbol of the pain he knew was to come, and he was in no position to bring it to an end; he couldn't. The taste of beer contaminated his tongue and the lingering smell of scotch from Talon's stained clothes wafted in through his nose.

They parted after half a dozen seconds, with Talon's alcoholic saliva tethering to Ezreal's virgin lips. His eyes were as expressionless as before. "Put your clothes next to your journal," he demanded brazenly, with a knife hovering beside Ezreal's stomach. His eyes were already the size of golf balls from the kiss, but at the next order made them almost come flying out of his head. He couldn't recall ever allowing somebody outside his family to ever see him in such a compromising state. "Just do it, you fool. All of it."

At least it wasn't winter yet, and the world was still a little warm. That was the single upside he could find. His hands trembled over his jacket's buttons, the first one being the hardest for him to undo. One by one, he felt the garment split in the middle, where a loose, gray undershirt remained. It was unlike him to be so bashful; while he spent a lot of time on his own, he had no problem being in the center of attention now and again. His boyish cockiness was had faded, disappearing into the strange, Noxian fog.

With his patience worn thin, Talon used his free hand—the left one—unhooking the leather on his toy's hips. The trousers fell to Ezreal's ankles. Only then did Talon's grasp subside. Ezreal staggered backward and surveyed the damage. He wriggled out of his boots and kicked the remainder of his pants to the side. A thin, white brief was the only thing that shielded his pelvis from the rest of the world. While the defeated male began to undress, Talon's eyes lifeless eyes witnessed it. The only indication that he was enjoying himself was not in his face, actually being in a lower spot on his body. A small ridge had built in Talon's attire, a mark of arousal. It perplexed the assassin; it was no surprise to him that having unconditional control excited him, but Ezreal, evidently male, bore so much resemblance to the girl that he got the attention of Talon's (formerly) exclusively heterosexual sex drive.The youth shuddered while an amiable wind brushed past his torso. Talon's eyes went over the gentle curve of his body. Ez's pectorals were slight, shaping only enough to make his waist appear to curve inward. The slenderness of his limbs was consistent with the rest of his body.

The youth shuddered while an amiable wind brushed past his torso. Talon's eyes went over the gentle curve of his body. Ez's pectorals were slight, shaping only enough to make his waist appear to curve inward. The slenderness of his limbs was consistent with the rest of his body, he discovered, and nearly hairless. Perhaps he shaved? Or was just a natural born twink? A strange, decadent smile came over his lips while the final piece of fabric fell from Ezreal's hips. Hiss manhood was proportionate to the rest of his slight body. Though it was small, part of that ironically added to the appeal.

It was the most humiliating moment ever to have happened the boy. Almost instantly, Ezreal angled himself away from the open public, only giving Talon an eyeful of his backside. "Don't touch me," he growled in his own defense, which only made him appear more submissive than before.

"Don't bite the hand that wields a knife, Ezreal."

"Quit staring at me." His bare feet shuffled reluctantly backward on the cobblestone, but to Talon's amusement, he was already against a wall after a couple feet. His nude body winced.

Talon shook his head. He scooped up the belt that laid at his feet and approached him at a brisk pace. "You're in need of some discipline, child." He pulled at the leather strap so it could let out a generous crack that bounced off of the alley walls into Ezreal's ears.

"...You're not gonna...do that. You're just bluffing. Stop with the games."

Ezreal's voice was the concoction of fear and impatience. Unfortunately for him, with his back turned, he wasn't able to see the anger on Talon's face, nor could he see him draw back his arm. A sudden, intense pain shot from his behind and the young man wailed. A diagonal welt was already taking place on his previously untouched skin.

The assassin took another couple of bold steps in his direction. His hands shackled onto Ezreal's resistant wrists and had them neatly pressed against the wall underneath his left hand alone. As the boy squirmed from the discomfort, Talon was able to gauge just how much stronger he was than the cocky mage. That only made it increasingly satisfactory. "Do you think I'm bluffing now? Answer me, I dare you," said Talon monotonously.

Ezreal's face was deep scarlet in color. He had always hated Noxians—their politics, their fighting, their conceit—but he had never been _afraid._ Danger excited him, and while all that was true, Talon had said it right. He was no longer in a simulated battle, where his death was reversible at a summoner's command. This alley could wind up being his tomb if he didn't stand still for his aggressor. "No, sir," the prodigy hissed in efforts to mask that unrest.

Talon's tongue licked his top lip, his first facial signal of his arousal. His erection had been compressed in his garb for too long and ached for the warmth another person. It had been months since he last found somebody to seduce and bring them to their knees. "Knees," he said aloud while the top of his trousers drew back to finally grant the throbbing organ the open space it needed. In contrast, his equipment was much more mature, at a glance, double the size of his counterparts and still growing. "I like that idea. Turn around and kneel before me." He liberated the blonde and watched him crumble to the stone floor. "Face me, you fucking coward."

"Hold on—" Ezreal's thoughts were interrupted while the clenched knuckles of Talon's hand clouted him cruelly on the head, just above the ear. His brain rattled around in his brain. "I don't just want to hit you...I need to; how else will I teach a bratty kid to behave?" Ezreal stared nervously in fear of another strike. "Pretty faces like you have a foot in the grave as soon as you step foot in here."

While the explorer listened to Talon's words, he tried his best to make like his massive erection wasn't there. His face darkened instantaneously and he could feel a quickening pulse on his neck. He could easily predict the fate that came next.

"Go on."

"Yes, sir." Is this what happened in Noxus? Casual blow jobs in every dark corner? He had taken the security and order of Piltover for granted; there in Noxus, perhaps people could see what was happening, yet the scene was so ordinary that they didn't intervene. He missed Lux and Cait and Vi, there presence an uneven trade for the fate presented to him. And Jayce, the one man who truly made him smile just hearing him speak, with his soothing voice and athletic build beneath his clothes. The only man he could ever imagine performing such a sin with was Jayce. He wasn't a soothsayer, though.

Ezreal's eyes shut tightly while his docile hands handled the base of Talon's member. He could see it expand and contract in tempo with Talon's steady heartbeat, raising goosebumps on his skin. Just like ripping off a bandage, he curved his lips open and whimpered while the head of his manhood disappeared behind his pink lips. The flesh was temperate on his tongue and sensation began to channel arousal from the decadent side of the blonde. It would be the only moment of repose that the two would share for the remainder of their time. Talon unwound his toxicity and leaned into Ezreal, prying his lips open a little more. To reward his good behavior, likely to be the only praise he'd give, Talon's hands explored the youth's blonde hair while he voiced his satisfaction subtly. "Mmm," he hummed with his eyes closed and the fantasy of his former lover dancing before his eyes. Ezreal was gentle, just as she would have been, even using his tongue to caress the swollen head. To challenge him, Talon pressed his lips forward so his length would be sent further into his mouth. Surprisingly, Ezreal scarcely gagged nor flinched, likely out of fear of having a knife impale him in the stomach. He had a steadiness in his work, despite his hands shaking incorrigibly beneath him. The Piltoverian pointed his eyes up to observe his keeper's expression only to see his eyes closed and his chapped lips in a line parallel to the floor. If only this easygoing gesture could be the worst...

"Somebody seems to know how to use their lips," Talon pointed out while he combed through Ezreal's locks. His eyelids flickered while he slid his erection and withdrew it from his plaything's chamber.

"I've never done this before, sir."

"Fresh blood, I like that." He crouched, gloved hands reaching underneath Ezreal's arms to lift him to a stand. "It'd be my pleasure to break you in." Talon felt a firm object poke against his dangling scrotum, and upon a more thorough investigation, he spotted Ez's member, now swollen to a much larger size. "Looks like you've been enjoying yourself."

"Don't get any ideas," Ezreal protested weakly; the sassy comment only resulted in a firm shove against the wall. He could feel a jagged edge of the rock force his skin open and allow a hint of blood to streak across the small of his back. "Ahh..~"

"Damn, you just keep proving my point for me, faggot." As Ez trembled in his shadow, Talon's gloved hands slid over various parts of his body, in search of any spots that prompted any lewd reactions. His nether regions were one, obviously, but in addition, he found the neck, waist, and nipples to be other areas of interest. Each spot made his breath hitch or his knees buckled under his own weight. "Turn around and bend over," barked Talon after his inspection was complete, and compliantly, his victim did just that. Ezreal wasn't dumb, just what would come next would be inevitable. The boy concluded there was no use in a protest.

Talon removed his gloves and dropped them to the floor so that his bare hands would function as their own switch. They cupped each of Ezreal's glutes to force them apart. The boy mewed and stiffened every muscle in his slender body. "Please, just get it over with, Talon," he requested, knowing he would be no readier should they delay it.

"Try again," the perpetrator growled. His left hand spidered up to the fresh wound that formed there. "You don't want me to hit you again, do you, my little weakling?"

"Oww...f-fine...please get it over with... _sir,_ " he hissed while the rough skin only broke more of the skin.

At some point, Talon's vision of his prior lover had eradicated. His subconsciousness probably grew tired of putting forth extra effort to pretend the squirming form belonged to a woman. Besides, having a man's texture must feel euphoric contracting around his girth. With the lingering fluid still glistening on Talon's member, it would act as a makeshift lubricant, just enough to get them started. He poked the length against the entrance to Ezreal's secluded, untouched cavern, enough to warn him of the pain only seconds away. "Make the best of this, weakling~" Talon whispered lewdly while his considerable length pried its way in. Ez's cheeks closed around the intruder, forcing a satisfactory growl from deep in his throat.

The agonizing very first step had ended quickly, but not painlessly. The friction and sheer size of Talon's manhood widened the opening to a grotesque size. Ezreal was already howling from it, loud enough to scare away the banshees and capture the attention of pedestrians walking by. "Nngh~ No! Get out!" he implored. Talon responded only by pounding into him a second time, hard enough and far enough to stretch the walls of the cavity lurking within. "Talon, sir~! Please!" The man to his senior grabbed tufts of his hair to yank back his head and cause another horrific wail.

Talon showed him no mercy, much like any of his victims. It rewarded his body to be rough with Ezreal, satisfying his sadistic desires in a way that women failed to before. His throbbing length only increased with his steady strokes. Some of his own saliva dribbled from his panting lips. It felt like Ezreal picked a loose thread out of his soul and ran with it, unwinding him at the core. With a haunting smirk creeping over his face, his palm came down onto Ezreal's ass for an enthusiastic slap. Not in a long time had he produced smile so genuine, even if it was shrouded in ill intent. "You feel  _good,_ Ezreal..." he coaxed. "Sound even better."

"F-fuck off!" the boy screamed in utter disgust. He barely felt like a human, like Talon had sole proprietorship over his virgin body—like that's all he was—Talon's property. Each centimeter of the tissue inside him was growing so sore that the pain had faded away into tingling numbness. The gestures manifested peculiar sounds, like the sound a wet washcloth makes when somebody drops it on the floor. Talon gave another tormenting slam with his fist, but the pain barely contested with the concoction of pleasure and pain forming in deep inside him. "Stop!" cried the blonde hoarsely time and time again throughout the affair. Time and time again, the pleas were ignored. Ever now and then, Talon would rock his hips in such a way that struck a bundle of nerves, the infamous spot that Ezreal had always heard of, yet never knew it truly existed. The bizarre thing was how bittersweet he felt whenever Talon pounded against it. Everything hurt and he felt humiliated, but the pleasure he received from each thrust into his body's holy grail trumped all of it.

Talon forced his ebony eyes open, watching their body's become one. Like a pendulum, he swung at a consistent tempo, back and forth interminably. His sounds were limited to occasional, deep moans between his unsteady breathing. With a hand nearly ripping the hair out of Ezreal's scalp, the other he placed on the wall so he could stabilize himself and get a little more leverage. "Oh man...I hope nobody ever kills you. You've invoked so much pleasure in me..." The raw, primitive instinct that sex provided was consuming all of his senses. The tingling warmth building in his abdomen ached to reach its turning point.

"Talon, stop, please~!" Ezreal stammered, "Slower! You're hurting me!"

Then came an idea. Talon reached in front of Ezreal's body and put the entire member in his hand. "Maybe  _this_ will change your mind." His palm caressed the member quickly and violently, just like his thrusting had. The results were instantaneous; Ezreal's sphincters clamped down tightly around his length. Then, all at once, to the surprise of the both of them, Ezreal felt his orgasm traveling through his body. His whines grew louder and louder, but one mighty shout marked his sudden peak, like running into a wall. Before he could even process the intensity in his nervous system, thick ropes of semen spewed out, spurting more times than Ezreal could count. "Talon~ Talon!" he cried while the unexplainable phenomenon filled his body, but to his disappointment, the ecstasy ended as quickly as it had started. The sticky fluid stuck to the walls and his chest, perhaps the only dollop of color to be seen in that entire alley.

Talon was moving even faster still, now that his own messy end was in his sights. "Yeah...that's right...say my name again," he moaned.His right hand, having completed its task, returned into vision, now smothered by Ezreal's warm "passion." He had always been curious about the way the fluid tasted...though he never took to letting his own touch his tongue. He opened his hungry mouth; the liquid touched his tongue. With a strangely bitter, indescribable taste, Talon groaned helplessly. "I'm gonna—" His thick erection was filled to the brink with semen and upon tasting Ezreal's, it lost its ability to maintain control. As seed began shot out, filling the Ezreal's depths, the assassin's husky moan dragged out for the duration. Only when the spasms ended did Talon pull his sexual weapon out from its sheath.

Dizzy, exhausted, and in pain, the explorer collapsed against the grimy wall. The sensations were so overwhelming that he was barely able to keep his head up.

He couldn't remember exactly when, but he blacked out on the cold cobblestone. The last thing he heard was the sound of chains and a woman's maniacal laugh before everything succumbed to the darkness.


	3. Beautiful Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Heads up!** This chapter contains the following:
> 
> -Explicit sexual themes  
> -Non-consensual sex  
> -Minor age difference (17 and mid-20's)  
> -Light BDSM/sexual violence  
> If you do not feel comfortable reading such material, I recommend not reading this chapter!

Night had descended on Valoran. Combined with that day's lingering haze, it was nearly impossible to navigate through the streets of Noxus. By lamplight, shops were vaguely distinguishable, but it wasn't easy to get from one place to another. LeBlanc was one of the few bold enough to wander through the streets, for she had somewhere to be: Swain's quarters. There was news to tell.

Though she was not particularly bothered by the way everything played out, the whole “sex” thing was not what she was expecting. Sex and love made everything so much more confusing for the weak minded. If it was just a quick death or a beating, Talon would be moving on with Ezreal like any other victim. Considering Talon operated off of his passions in his life, it was bound to make their plan a big mess. She had to appease him, Talon, and herself simultaneously. That, _or_ she could completely leave the other two with nothing. The latter was the quicker and less demanding than the first, but Talon’s image of her would shatter.

The steep incline of the of the mountain was difficult to make in the pumps she wore. She had sent them home with her Mirror Image, leaving only her stockings to cover her feet. The only reason the matron found it so difficult was her point of departure—the tunnels of Noxian prison. Her strenuous efforts to weave her deceptive tapestry had brought her there, which she couldn't wait to gloat to her former friend.

Her trip was complete quicker than she had expected, mostly because she did not need to dodge any guards or drunks on the way into the palace. Besides, she was always one step ahead of a simple-minded security guard. What kind of deceiver would she be if she couldn't be? LeBlanc could pass through walls with ease; it wasn't a difficult task. She dashed through walls numerous times back in Summoner's Rift and Noxian walls were no different.

Barefoot and relieved the climb was over, her hand ran across the granite walls of the castle. The sorceress looked around to make sure no soldiers were nearby and glided through the marble wall. Before her was a dimly lit foyer with red carpets extending to the doorways for the surrounding rooms. The room was empty and silent, so as her staff tapped against the ground, the sound bounced off the walls. She climbed the marble stairs, a much easier trek than the one to get to the palace itself, but as she reached the first landing where the stairs turned the corner, she finally encountered somebody. It was Swain, whose expressionless glare struck her suddenly.

"Expecting me, were you?" asked the matron.

The man held a dead match, mimicking the expression on his face. Nobody would ever understand how the gears shifted in the head of his. "Perhaps. I was lighting the candles when you burst forth."

"Forgive my intrusion, then. Is now a bad time?"

"I invite you to my study, Evaine. Forgive me for making assumptions, but you have news to report, no?"

LeBlanc ascended the remaining flight of stairs, pleasantly accepting the invitation. "Why yes, would I have stopped by otherwise?" She quietly proceeded down to the end of the hallway with her host, mindful not to use her staff as a walking stick and cause a racket. With dozens of doors on either side, she wondered what those doors could possess. The possibilities riddled her mind: servants' quarters, prison cells, archives filled with books, or unused guest bedrooms. She never stuck around long to investigate. They entered Swain's room once more, the same room they had met and conversed earlier that day. The male, limping hastily over to his desk chair, said nothing until he situated himself.

"I haven't seen Darius for the last few hours. Sources tell me they saw you and Talon with him. Am I wrong to speculate you utilized him in your efforts?"

"Your intuition never seems to fail."

Swain pulled out a drawer to reveal a fountain pen; he quickly wrote nearly illegible notes onto a piece of parchment. "Is Ezreal alive?"

LeBlanc nodded.

"Wounded?"

"Scarce. His back bears a minor cut on it from rough gravel, that is all."

Swain's face remained in its petrified form as he wrote. The notes appeared to LeBlanc in a foreign script—then again, his handwriting was truly terrible and it was possible that she couldn’t read it. Even back in their days of oath-sworn friendship, when they would fill out documents together, his writing was difficult to decipher. "How did you manage to get him into your custody without inflicting significant damage?"

"Ah—let me stop you there, Jericho. Talon conveyed a strong work ethic in forcing the boy into our hands. In fact, it was much more…obscene and brazen than I had predicted." The woman's face wasn't at all distracted by the lewd images playing before her as if these circumstances were ordinary. "Suffice it to say that he experienced the boy in the most primal and intimate of ways."

"Interesting approach." Swain's hand curled into a small fist, allowing loose joints and bones to pop back into place. "Have you him in custody yet?"

"I called for Darius to bring him to a prison cell."

"Terrific. Why don't we go down and meet with our scoundrel now?"

"Why now?" LeBlanc asked in a sultry tone. As she walked closer, she was slow, as if she were moving through water, and a wicked grin was perched upon her mouth. In spite of this, Swain remained silent and his eerie and forever inexpressive face. "I certainly am in no rush. Wouldn't you like to see how Mister Sadism would respond to seeing his victim in chains? If not that, the end product?" He stared back at her wordlessly. "Come _on_...is there any of the old Swain left behind the mask?"

Swain seemed to see straight through LeBlanc's schemes and the dying embers of seduction from their previous friendship—if he dared call it that. The dynamic, more accurately, was her gestures and his indifferent lack of response. Every now and then, the matron liked to feed fuel to the dying embers; every time the response (or lack thereof) was the same. “I’ve grown. Whilst you see this as a game, I picture it a political opportunity.”

“But just imagine how haywire Piltover would become once they find their precious child prodigy whipped and beaten. Those in favor of democracy would rather start a war than let a citizen perish beyond their walls.

“I’m saying that we should give Talon a little time with his toy instead of scurrying down and drawing this potentially amusing matter to a close. Want you to do the dirty work yourself or to spectate the mind of an unrepentant sadist? ”

Swain weighed out his choices in his mind, but LeBlanc had an excellent way of embellishing her desires. He had no need to punish the juvenile himself since he was never truly was sadistic at heart. Even if he were, he wouldn’t be for an impatient, twinkish, bratty boy. “Fair enough. I suppose your idea will do nicely. Beatrice and I are exhausted by this time of day anyway.”

The response appeased LeBlanc; she grimaced while she took a couple of steps in Swain’s direction. Swain was not a fool, though. He knew exactly what was to come next, with her chest stuck out and her purple lips subtly glittering in the light. “Pleasure seeing you, Evaine. I need you not, and despite your endeavors, no, I will _not_ be the next man to fall victim to your see-through temptation,” he spat, smothering the remaining heat of their dying embers.

“Whatever you please. I will return by the eleventh hour sharp, hopefully, a richer woman than she who leaves you now.” LeBlanc gave an ingenuine bow and turned her back to depart.

Swain rested his chin on his two palms. His scarlet irises studied the gentle (and clearly intentional) sway of her hips, seen just beyond her cape. He often reflected upon the irony of his name, always having been single. Always planning to as well. He never had the time and expected he never will. LeBlanc loved to pester him and test his strength, probably because she finally found someone who confided in her. Perhaps he was the only man who ever would.

* * *

The steadiness of Ezreal’s heartbeat echoed in his ears long before he regained consciousness. Darkness was all he could see, but the pounding of his heart assured him that no, he was not dead. Though that fate probably was more favorable.

His eyes fluttered open and immediately, he could make out the cobblestone beneath him and against his bare back. He was numb still, strangely, but he noted his arms in shackles. They were over his head and enveloped his forearms. The chains themselves were short and restricted his movement to nearly nothing other than a helpless flail.

“Hello? Anyone?” Ezreal called out to the dark cell. “Shit,” he muttered, realizing that if he was locked up somewhere, he'd be put somewhere where no one could hear him. Ironic, wasn’t it? In all of the history books, Ezreal heard that Noxian prisons were as close to medieval torture as it got. Despite that, everything was far too quiet.

Ezreal then realized that most of his clothes and armor had been removed. All that remained were the leather straps around his waist. He squirmed, discomforted by his vulnerability. None of his equipment, his clothes, or his journal were anywhere in sight. He thought he’d be lucky to ever see any of them again. The belts were a dreadful reminder of the hell he’d endured earlier.

How early? He wasn’t sure if he was unconscious for hours or for days. “Talon…” whimpered Ezreal while feeling slowly restored in his system. The loose bolts in his shackles gently bit into his skin every time he moved them. His entire body seemed to ache, especially his lower half. “I’ll get him for this…stupid Noxian…” he retorted as an empty threat.

A sliver of light came through a slit in the door. It was covered with a form of distorted glass which those on the outside alone could see through. To Ez, the glass looked like it was melting. Any color that would stream from that spot was devoured by the cell’s shadows. Already feeling defeated, Ezreal slumped down onto the grimy prison floor.

The tranquility of the cell was tantalizing; he was sure that this truculent wasps nest was nothing but violent and bloody despite the silence. It seemed unrealistic—how quiet it was. Nobody else was there to keep his company, ally, adversary, or fellow inmate. Not even his shadow was in sight.

His only option was to wait. He had nowhere to go and nobody to ask for help. Sleep looked like a distant memory now that cobblestone was his mattress. His hands were almost already unresponsive from the lack of blood flow.

In reality, Talon stood on the other side of the door, bolted shut by a lock. Oil lanterns were the sole light sources down the never ending corridors of Noxus’s underground prison system. The only reason that this portion of the dungeon was so quiet was that the doors and walls absorbed sound from the inside. Lingering in the halls were screaming and cursing coming from various prisoners—men, women, and children, a sound that Talon had grown more than used to over the years. He worked for the Du Couteau family.

 _Du Couteau._ He had been so caught up in greed the last few days that his mind had strayed from locating the missing officer. He was the only person skilled enough to catch him, and somebody out there was strong enough to succeed him and do so without being caught. Whoever that person was, they covered their footprints well enough that Talon spent hours investigating to no result. Maybe Ezreal’s arrival came at a good time? His body was a great distraction and stress reliever for his bewildering quest. He wanted Ezreal to himself and wished that LeBlanc didn’t convince him to arrest Ezreal and bring him to a dungeon. The power he had over him was unbelievable and he didn’t want hundreds of other prison guards to share what he had. He wished LeBlanc would just leave, too. Talon squinted his eyes into the slot in the door where he spotted the blonde’s hair, still unclothed, but bobbing up and down to indicate his consciousness. His garments had confiscated by the warden where they would be claimed at his sentencing. He looked in either direction before slipping the key into the lock.

Ezreal heard a noise for the first time since he woke. The door in front of him raddled and began to open. Weak light streamed through in a growing cone and he could finally examine his own cell. Directly beside him to the left, he could see a wooden plank suspended by two small chains, likely to be his bed. Carvings and ink littered the walls and floor. An oil lamp was mounted to the right of the door. As for the size, it was barely a meter and a half wide and about three in length.

Talon threw himself against the heavy door to make sure it was shut tightly. From one of his pockets, he grabbed a match. He used the wall to ignite it and tossed it into the lantern so that he’d be able to see his victim in the darkness.

“Talon,” Ezreal said distastefully while images from earlier tainted his mind. With the way his shackles were positioned on his forearms, there was no way for him to hide nudity. He laid face up with his arms over his head and bolted to the wall in the back. “Where is this? Where the hell did you take me?”

“You wanted to see Noxian tunnels, huh? Well, don’t say I never did anything for you.” Talon advanced toward him and allowed his shadow to pass over him. The dim light bathed his body in a yellowish haze. “That’s a great look for you, baby.”

“I’m not your baby,” Ezreal murmured. That pet name was more endearing than the ones he’d heard before, but the eerie gentleness made it more aggravating than before. “You’re disgusting.”

“You’re tired, and you should know that I won’t be tolerating that kind of language.”

“I don’t have anything to lose. I don’t care. You Noxians are gonna torture me either way, won’t you?”

Talon’s lips formed a wry smile. “Feel fortunate you’re not a woman.”

The prisoner’s face turned bright red; he rolled onto his side the best he could with his hands chained up and curled his legs into a fetal position. “You people…”

“You call us cruel, but there’s a reason people don’t commit second offenses.”

“We have Cait, and she gets the job done _without_ beating people. You can’t teach lessons to people you already killed. Just sayin’.”  
Talon glared at him, infuriated mostly that Ezreal was right. Even if Noxus’ correctional techniques resonated more than Piltover’s, their law enforcement was superior. Nobody even thought of committing a crime there, and Talon remembered somebody saying, “An ounce of prevention is worth more than a pound of cure.” “You’re so goddamn lucky that I’m the only one putting my hands on you. Imagine having three of us competing for resources.” He slipped down onto his knees. “Now, why don’t you be a good boy so I don’t have to take you to one of the ‘disciplinary rooms,’ sound good?”

“Long as I don’t have to finish every sentence in ‘sir.’”

“Fair enough.”

Ezreal didn’t like the sound of that. He didn’t speak for several moments after that and the one noise to be heard was the slow burn of the oil lantern, which barely made noise in itself. He could feel Talon’s eyes on his soft skin and he didn’t want to know what he was thinking. He brought his legs into his chest to wind himself into a tight ball. “Hmph. You’re that scared of me, huh?” asked Talon playfully.

“I still hurt from earlier...hey, how long ago was that?”

“About five hours ago. I was afraid I killed you at first. You dropped like a fly as soon as I finished up.”

The nerves in Ezreal’s insides tingled sporadically while he reflected on the man’s semen filling him up. It suddenly occurred to him that _Talon_ of all people—an honorless, deceitful fiend, had stolen his innocence. He was no longer a virgin and had submitted to the likes of a _man_. Now that it was on his mind, he couldn’t make it cease. He felt broken—corrupted by his violation.

“Come on, baby...I thought you liked a little danger.” Talon enjoyed this more tender technique more. His mouth watered at all the terrible things he could do to his “baby.” The irony of being endearing and bothering Ezreal was so much was attractive, since now he was armed with the knowledge that he _could_ enjoy it. “Think of my sex as just another one of your adventures.”

“Gross,” Ezreal spat.

“That’s enough back talk from you. I see you still need me to teach you your manners. You Piltoverians and Demacians have everything you want handed to you,” Talon began to preach. “And now that you’re in a place of inferiority, you’re too complacent to see what you’re up against. Your bare body lies there, waiting for me to mess with it, and if you keep it up—acting like that—you’ll be screaming my name just like you were back in that alley.” Ezreal stared scornfully up at his perpetrator, but something was different about the look in his eyes. Instead of horror and denial, his baby blue eyes demonstrated fear and submissiveness. While they were still angry, he could tell that Ezreal was too afraid to retaliate, paralyzed by the disturbing seed he’d planted in his brain. “Have we reached an understanding?”

The boy nodded with an empty sigh and Talon smiled. He was having enough fun that there was a little lust building up into an erection. It hadn’t reached the extent where he needed to seek relief, but he knew it would with a little more probing.

Ezreal was complacent no longer; he now knew that he wouldn’t be getting out of here for a while. His outburst was impulsive, which left him somewhat confused. Even knowing that being rude to Talon would earn him pain or otherwise a punishment, he did so without thinking, as if drawn to the decadent danger. As a young child, his parents would always tell him “curiosity killed the cat” since danger and the unknown fascinated him. Though he detested him, Talon wasn’t that much of an exception. The idea was repulsive, taboo, unheard of—maybe that was what made it so intriguing.

“What now?” he asked.

Talon had not forged a plan yet; he originally only wanted to beat the living hell out of Ezreal and scare him out of the city, but LeBlanc had Ezreal become a prisoner, which he didn’t understand. He was always meticulously cautious around LeBlanc, or strove to be, for she rarely states the true motives of her plan. Any suspicion was a red flag, and the more he pondered it, the more holes he found in LeBlanc’s plan.

He recalled when he thought she was scared of Ezreal and didn’t think she was strong enough, but she undoubtedly possessed that power. All it took was a little black magic on summoner’s rift and that was the end of him. So why was she pretending she didn’t have the power? Was he being played? Of course, he was...it was LeBlanc. But he knew she was a person too, and every person, no matter how powerful, has their weakness.

He had no answer to Ezreal’s question. He had time, though.

Talon fell onto his knees before Ezreal’s reclined body. This prompted Ezreal to partially turn around to see what the man was doing. His exhales began to tremble while Talon’s hands cupped around his knees. “Are you asking me?”

“Don’t,” he hissed faintly. Just as he remembered, Talon’s hands were rough against his legs, rubbing slowly and sensually and working up his thighs. It was difficult for him to sit still, but there wasn’t much room for him to squirm. “I don’t want you.” His words were weak and only barely believable. His face was insidiously growing red. It was disturbing how an assassin—a rapist—was able to get him so hot and bothered. “Why don’t you find somebody else?”

“Because you like it. And you pretend that you don’t.”

“I do not!”

“You’re lying. I read your diary.”

Ezreal suddenly tensed up and was completely still. He had forgotten about the journal; he’d probably seen _everything_. His journals were living documents of his life and every discovery, encounter, and feeling he could remember. It was nothing he wanted even Cait or any of his friends to see, let alone his rapist. His insides felt like they were shriveling away.

“That’s right, Ezreal. I’ll show you _exactly_ what I mean.” Talon reached onto his belt where the boy’s diary was. “Where was it…” he asked himself while he flipped furiously through the faintly crinkled pages with rushed handwriting and sloppy sketches. “Right here,” he announced. He flattened the book at the spine and presented the two pages to Ezreal. “Read these two pages to me, baby.”

Swallowing hard, Ezreal squinted. The lantern was being awfully stingy with its light and barely lit the page enough for him to see. “ _Friday. I wasn’t planning on ever recording these down on paper, but it’s...how I feel. I saw Jayce in the library today._ ” He glanced up at Talon, whose gaze notified him not to cease. “ _I ended up falling asleep because I was working so late last night. And he was there. He was sitting across from me and helping me do some research. His eyes looked great…_ ” Ezreal paused from the embarrassment. “ _He told me that he wanted me to go home with him...and I didn’t know why he said that, but the way he looked at me made me so shy. And I’m never shy! Not even around Lux._

“ _And before I knew it, he was standing me up, telling me to go pack my things up because I was leaving. Everything was hazy, but I remember him kissing me. I loved it. And he told me that the only reason I’m not with him was because I’m afraid of what my friends will think._ ”

Talon clapped the book shut and discarded it. The book bounced a couple of times before resting open a few feet behind him. “See? I was able to do some reading while I waited for you to wake up. I know.”

The usually talkative boy did not move his lips. His eyes alternated between Talon’s toxic smile and the man’s digits wrapped tight around his thighs. He was vulnerable before, but he had even less leverage now.

Talon pressured Ezreal. He wriggled his body between the child’s unclothed leg, still on his knees. His body loomed over Ez like a mighty oak over a field mouse. The world has blessed him by allowing him to see the explorer’s face and the intricate range of feeling it conveyed. “It will be intriguing to see how long you will deny yourself the pleasure,” he coaxed.

Ezreal was still silent with astonishment. It was one thing for him to jot down notes carelessly as they came to mind versus a statement made clear as day. Talon forced the words from his mouth and suddenly the impetuous words were divulged. His emotions, his desires, were suddenly _real._ They were no longer just thoughts on paper. After a sigh of defeat, he bore witness to the man in command.

Unlike the last time, since the cell offered a little more privacy, Talon took a turn in removing his clothes. Wearing his “Dragonblade” outfit, it comprised mostly of easily removable armor and accessories. He unequipped red scarf and adjoining cape, the armlets, his boots, and the remainder of his torso armor. He also took note of the small chains he found attached to his armor, maybe to be of use for later, along with other objects to use for later. He was left in a tight undershirt and trousers. The ceremony would have been arousing for Ezreal had he not been biting into his bottom lip and hoping the stirrings would pass.

Talon did not stop there, though. While his hands peeled the skin-tight garment from his chest, Ezreal immersed himself in Talon’s image. He wasn’t any skimpy teenager; he was fed and trained like a soldier and had the physique to prove it. His broad chest and sizeable arms were riddled with various scars, some in the shapes of X’s and slashes, others appeared circular, like gunshot or magic based wounds. Below the chest was mostly untouched, putting the deep grooves of his abdominal muscles under the spotlight. Ezreal’s arousal then became visible, with his member already enlarging considerably. His goals of suppressing the hormones were ineffective.

“You stare at me like you’ve never seen a real man before.” He laughed heartily. His right hand reached behind his head and pulled out the red hair tie, liberating a few layers of hair that fell into gentle curves. The length of Talon’s mane came as a surprise to Ezreal, probably falling an inch or so longer than his own when not being restricted by the hair tie.

“I never...looked at a guy like this,” Ezreal confessed.

“Get used to it,” teased Talon. He bent forward enough so that his hair dangled over his chest and swept delicately over the skin. His palms skidded against Ezreal’s defenseless torso. With no surprise, Ezreal’s stomach had only slight ridges of muscle while the rest was a satin-like layer of hairless skin. The boy writhed to the best of his ability despite being restrained at his arms. His heartbeat beckoned Talon for more of his touches.

The assassin licked his upper lip subtly as he had done before, marking the beginning of his arousing assault. The dampened lip descended to grace Ezreal’s in a dainty kiss. His lips sang the enticing hymn of a siren. Any attempts to resist were decaying with each strange second their lips collided. Talon was so bad, but it felt so good, even if he was being played like a violin.

Talon sat back on his heels with his thick arms crossed over his chest triumphantly. “You’re so tense, baby...it hurts less if you relax.”

“This is wrong…”

“Nobody ever had fun playing by the rules.”  
Ezreal turned his head to the side with his eyes and jaw clenched shut. The way his mouth barked orders and his hands caressed him were the epitome of his conflict. Noxians were masters of manipulation and trickery; it would be so much easier to succumb.

By the time his eyes opened, Talon’s nude body stood over him. The details were difficult to see in the dying light, but Ezreal couldn’t miss his massive erection. It nauseated him— _that_ fit in him?

Talon crawled back over to him like a tiger stalking his prey. He hungrily eyed his blonde captive with his body tingling with anticipation. Ezreal tugged on the chains desperately as his last resort; if he let just one spark of pleasure reach his bloodstream, his entire body would go up in flames.

Talon’s frenzy had begun. His mouth and manhood grew impatient. Talon greeted Ezreal with a barrage of kisses, varying from quick and gentle pecks to succulent gestures incorporating tongue and teeth as well. His restless fingers hooked onto the couple leather straps wrapped loosely around Ezreal’s hips and stomach. He tugged periodically at them which tried to suffocate him like a boa constrictor; oddly, it only added to the fervor building below his stomach. The restraints made him feel smaller in comparison. Grunts of approval came from Talon’s voice box on occasion, a subtle praise for his good behavior. Eventually came a slow sweeping motion at Talon’s hips. His thick length ground against the adolescent’s considerably smaller one steadily. Every so often, Talon would draw his lips away to allow the both of them to voice their pleasure in moans, a chorus of lust and arousal.

After a couple of minutes went by, Talon could tell from the blonde’s whines climbing higher in pitch that he reciprocated the impatience. Part of the vocalization may have come from accidentally kissing “too hard.” Both had a faint taste of blood in their mouths. Ezreal’s saliva dribbled from the opposite male’s lips while their heated breaths bounced off the thin walls beside them.

“Don’t think I’m gonna keep being so gentle, baby.”

The pet name Talon had given Ezreal was driving him insane. That two-syllable word had the power to freeze time and make his entire body shake. It forever burned a sadistic memory into his brain. He hated how much his sex drive loved it. Until he said the word, Ezreal was nearly convinced that Talon’s feelings were unfeigned affection. His lips felt just as he imagined Jayce’s would.

The tables were turning.

Talon unhinged the belts and straps around Ez’s torso with ease, like undoing a zipper. He held the strips of leather in his hands to compare their size to various parts of Ezreal’s body, notably, the neck. Ezreal wasn’t oblivious to the fact either and immediately spoke up.

“No,” he said in weak protest but it got him nowhere. One belt slithered underneath his neck and around to the front, passing through the bronze buckles. He squinted his eyes suspiciously. “Talon please—” he started but Talon would hear none of it. He tugged playfully at his makeshift leash to silence Ezreal’s windpipe. His eyes widened from panic, to the amusement of the aggressor. “Leather and chains look wonderful on you,” Talon assured him with his eerie peacefulness. Ezreal squirmed spasmodically. With his arms immobilized, all he could really do was shake his shoulders and below. Talon fastened the belt around his throat tight enough to suffocate him. “Don’t you agree?”

The poor boy couldn’t breathe, let alone respond to the question. The inability to speak had him trying to assess how he felt: scared of being hurt again; curious about the man’s touch; angry that somebody was taking advantage of him; saddened that he wasn’t home in his warm bedroom. Using all the strength that he could, he croaked out the word “stop.” His face was redder than just a little blush from being embarrassed. Talon shook his head playfully, again grinding against his body.

“Hm? What did you say there?”

Ezreal’s arms thrashed as much as they could in their shackles, though the more he struggled, the dizzier he felt. Even the most subtle of movements made his body feel like he was caving in around his lungs. “Stay nice and still for me,” coaxed Talon, “and I’ll give you some air.”

His body went limp in an instant. With his eyes riveted on the other, Talon pried through the explorer’s legs, a space he would be privileged to acquaint himself with once more. Ezreal’s body laid at a slight incline, leaving him in the perfect, vulnerable position. He didn’t bother with any proper lubricant and in one fluid motion, he seized access into his body. The blonde winced with his legs cradling Talon, but he endeavored to remain motionless. The feeling was different from lying down and remaining so terribly calm. The pain from penetration was familiar enough that he was instantly rewarded with a shockwave of satisfaction.

Ezreal received additional praise as the leather noose loosened. His cries leaked out of his mouth hastily and he filled his lungs with the stale air of his cell, which tasted like an ocean’s sea breeze in comparison to the breath he’d been holding. “Talon—” his voice quavered heavily between his whiney inhales and exhales. The line between disgust and pleasure became blurred when the oxygen reached his lungs. As his body stretched and contracted around Talon, he was cognizant of the pain again. He whimpered childishly with his teeth gritted.

“You say you hate it, Ezreal… but if you let go, you’ll love it just as much as I do,” Talon whispered ecstatically. The vision of him chained like a dog was equally as stimulating as fucking him against the wall. He couldn’t tell which one he wanted more, but pained facial expressions and the incessant panting was blissful.

“Never, not in a million years.”

“Stop talking,” Talon said with a threatening tug on the collar and that was reason enough for him to remain silent.

Talon dropped the leash and immersed himself in his movements, like the ebb and flow of the high tide. He reached under for Ezreal’s glutes and filled his palms with his soft skin. The boy hesitantly purred, still in compliance with his partner’s orders not to speak. His fingers curled into dainty fists and bittersweet moans ricocheted throughout the cell. Talon took that and his awkward, erotic faces as a sign to run the red lights. He pulled Ezreal’s body closer only to succeed in stretching his limbs, prompting yet another moan.

 _If you let go, you’d love it just as much as I do._ The phrase echoed in his mind persistently, like a mantra or a morning prayer. The more he tried to ignore it, the longer it stuck with him; the more he tried to disprove it, the truer it became. The pain, suffering, regret, dissonance, and scorn were growing much more obsolete so long as his sexual high crescendoed. Talon’s roughness and rugged charm converted to his mental, visual, and audible arousal. _He was so...right._ The moment he no longer rejected this intimacy with Talon, he began to only reap the benefits.

Suddenly, the blonde felt a bothersome sting in his eyes. For the first time in several months, maybe in even years, he thought that he was crying. The remained clamped shut for essentially the entire duration of their session. Upon lifting them, a steady river of tears fell from each of his eyes. The two were equally as surprised, since Ezreal hadn’t cried when he lost his virginity, but shortly following, he began to weep. “You’re crying?” asked Talon, temporarily halting his operations.

He nodded, giving a gentle shrug of the shoulders.

“You’re being a good boy, I won’t hurt you. At least not now.” The tears couldn’t possibly be from pain since Talon’s movements were several times more careful than those from earlier. Ezreal’s shoulders rose and fell with the rest of his helplessly trembling body.

“But I’m not afraid,” protested Ezreal. His damp eyes were lost somewhere in Talon’s and the light bounced off of Ezreal’s tears and reflected all around like a hall of mirrors. “I don’t know what I’m feeling...but please...don’t make it stop.”

“Of course not,” he replied enticingly. “I never planned on that."


	4. Two-Faced

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Heads up!** This chapter contains the following:
> 
> -Explicit sexual themes  
> -Minor age difference (17 and mid-20's)  
> -Light BDSM/sexual violence  
> -Minor violence and blood  
> If you do not feel comfortable reading such material, I recommend not reading this chapter!

At first, Ezreal thought that he had lost his innocence back in that alley, but he soon dismissed that thought. Just because his body was no longer untouched, it didn't mean he  _himself_ had lost anything at all.

He truly lost his innocence hours later, down in that cell.

"Don't stop," Ezreal whispered pleadingly, femininely. The voice his body produced barely sounded like his own, touching higher pitches than he had originally thought possible. It was stretched and distorted by his ecstasy and thirsty libido. His arms pulled at his chains and longed for freedom, not to swat Talon away or to sprint for his life but instead to  _touch_ the man who entertained him so. Talon's body looked like a statue of a god with every single detail methodically measured to make it flawless. His muscles flexed as his body moved which made Ezreal's heart beat faster and faster. " _God,_ Talon," he breathed. How was it that a single organ, eight-or-so inches long, was able to reduce him to a sobbing, panting, perspiring mess? Every thrust zoned in on that one spot that made every man shake and clench his fists at his sides. Talon was terrific at striking that epicenter time and time again, shooting haphazard aftershocks everywhere, only growing stronger as they increased in potency.

 _This_ was when his innocence left. Truly. Not a single nerve in him objected to the satisfaction he was blessed with. The very idea that was so ludicrous was something he had become. Who was he? A mere construct of a teenager's hormones? Never had he  _ever_ foreseen a future so dark, so twisted, so _great._

What was wrong with him? Sex never was a central focal point in his life, in fact, it never even crossed his mind. /he was immersed in the endless ocean of discovery, of exploration, and of treasure, the world where magic and science coexisted. Thanks to Talon's help, he realized that sex was almost the same. The discovery and exploration were there, and of course, the treasure at the end was glorious and decadent. Love was the magic and the hormones were the science. Was that why he loved it so much?

Talon's lips were too busy gulping down air in lewd panting, but he would be smiling otherwise. Ezreal was his declaration of power over the weaker and over the instinctive high he was adept in chasing. His hands coiled around Ezreal's thighs, nearly able to wrap his entire palm around his slender extremities. He pushed his legs upward so they hovered next to his sides, practically folding him in half. He whimpered nervously but Talon kept his word and did not reach up to strike him, instead ran his fingertips on his pelvis teasingly. He gradually slowed himself down and leaned forward a little so his words, still cloaked in scotch, were right in his front of his partner's eyes. "Ezreal, baby?"

"Yeah?" Ezreal asked back, opening his eyes and catching his shaky breath.

"What would you if I  _did_ stop?"

The blonde blinked rapidly, processing the sentence slowly as if he were translating it from a second language. His heart drummed in his temples and in the delicate walls that Talon had so feverously pounded. "Don't tease me like that," he whined childishly. "I...was enjoying myself...I think I was almost done," he confessed quietly.

"The pre-cum all over your stomach already gave me the indication."

Ezreal looked down at himself. Yes, it was true. There was a sticky, colorless liquid all over his abs, reflecting some of the light. Talon allowed a finger to run through the grooves there, allowing some of the glaze to gather on his index finger. He brought it up to Ezreal's lips and seized entry so that the pre-seminal fluid danced across Ez's tongue. Ezreal was surprised by the action and his eyebrows arched suspiciously. Of course, he didn't protest, polishing Talon's knuckles with saliva obediently. The liquid barely had any taste so he couldn't complain. "Keep going," he pleaded, the finger in his mouth muffling his speech. Batting his eyelashes and spreading an exaggerated grin, he attempted to look cute for Talon, as if his beautiful figure and soft skin weren't enough to entice him. It was near impossible who was the siren and who was the sailor anymore.

As long as Talon had a say, he would  _always_ be the siren. He knew that he'd never let Ezreal control him...right? Huskily, he said, "Hmm...I thought my sex was 'gross.' You wanna take that back?" 

The boy's fists clenched. "H-hey! That was before I...before you—"

"Say you take it back," Talon boomed. The teasing part of it had disappeared; the words sounded instead like a command. Suddenly, he noticed the leash was wrapping around his neck again, sneaking up on him like a cobra.

"I take it back," the desperate explorer whispered. The resonance in his voice faded while pressure returned to his larynx. "I take it back, I swear."

"Mhm. And I should trust you?"

Eagerly and imploringly, Ezreal nodded his head, allowing some of his pale blonde hair to veil his blue eyes. " _I_ trust _you._ "

Talon looked back at him unresponsively. "Because...you know I'm your only hope..." The sincerity of Ezreal's statement startled him and inhibited his dominance momentarily. He dropped the leash and shook his head. "Don't speak...just enjoy what I give you."

The boy was far too ecstatic to think about the words that he hissed out. His head rolled back and he gulped air down ungracefully like a fish out of water. Upon closing his eyes, he could still see the outline of Talon's body, every muscle, every scar, etched on the inside of his eyelids. "Faster," he begged, entranced. The dizzying scent of alcohol filled his nose; he fell deeper under Talon's spell, poisoning him like a spider's bite.

The assassin growled something incoherent. Ezreal's backside was red just from Talon's abs pressing into them endlessly. A wicked smile spread upon his chapped lips because the adolescent's body felt like a holy grail. He didn't have to hold back one bit. He pushed Ezreal's legs back even further, stretching the lazy hamstrings on either side. In this position, it was far too easy to pound into Ezreal's prostate.  _How the both of them loved that,_ between the moans and how perfect it felt on his erection."Make the whole dungeon know my name," Talon said lowly in his throat. And Ezreal did just that. He tugged and resisted the shackles on his arms while he exhausted his vocal box with the same name endlessly. He swore he pulled so tight that the bolts on the walls must have popped clean off the grimy cobblestone they were anchored to.

Talon knew that Ezreal didn't have much longer before his glorious end would arrive—as did Ezreal. Ezreal could feel that warmth that he had felt back in that alley, yet this time, it felt tantalizingly wonderful. "I'm gonna come—" he exclaimed frantically, but Talon didn't offer much sympathy to his cries.

"Stay patient, baby...won't you wait for me to go first?" suggested Talon—not much of a suggestion at all, since Ezreal had no choice but to comply. The Noxian's hips moved mercilessly; his eyes and mouth hung open, looking somewhat idiotic. He just wanted the image of Ezreal's body to permanently be engraved in his memory—his legs, spread apart and showing his body in the rawest form possible, with his own member pushed into him—his thighs, bruising from the strength of his grip—his blonde hair, utterly disheveled, flowing chaotically from his scalp—his cheeks, glistening from his tears that fell earlier—and lastly, his eyes, a culmination of pain and nirvana in their pastel blue shade. His senses were heightened and even in the barely visible lamplight, the colors were radiant and spectacular. Talon hopelessly groaned, tension in his scrotum and between his thighs multiplying like he was approaching the edge of infinity. "Damn, Ez," he grumbled with his jaw shut tight. Ezreal's defenseless, lewd face would never be forgotten; his ejaculation occurred abruptly, incredulously, all while he stared at the boy beneath him.

Ezreal's words faded away into sweet nothings and his self-control evaporated. His "sweet spot" had been hit so many times that it felt like it was melting away. Talon's seed felt like acid, now that he was fully conscious to experience it. It leaked out as Talon's motions continued and rolled down onto his back from the way he was angled—legs in the air. Ezreal's mouth opened to ask permission to orgasm, but his request ended up being nothing but a helpless string of moans and curse words. His pelvic muscles contracted and it felt like his blood was boiling as he came. The semen shot up first onto his chest and cheek, but the spurts increased in strength. Some of the fluid ended up painting the wall over his head.

As their orgasms ended, both stared into each other's eyes for the longest time. Their sweaty bodies heaved desperate breaths. Talon let go of Ezreal's legs and they fell to the floor limply. Here, Ezreal's lustful fire had gone out and he laid exhaustedly beneath his partner. He longed to break out of the shackles and bring Talon down on top of him, to seal his lips upon the other man's and to touch him again...not quite as intense as before. He just wanted to, for lack of better words,  _cuddle._

With their sexual appetites satisfied, the two were immersed in thought, staring at one another. "Hey, Ez."

"Nnn...yeah?"

"Do you really trust me?"

What of trust? The concept was hazy...and now that he wasn't thinking about  _sex,_ he was no longer certain that it was true. Sex made it confusing; while he felt degraded and inferior with the man between his legs, it, bizarrely, made him feel safe. At home. Loved? No. He concluded that he did  _not_ love Talon. The blonde just stared back at him awkwardly with his eyes glazed over.

"Even if you don't...just know that  _that_ was...the greatest sex of my life." His finger gathered up some of the semen on Ezreal's body and he licked it up hastily. It tasted different than the first—it tasted more lively and genuine. Don't ask how.

The response put butterflies in his stomach. Ezreal's flustered face finally turned to break the eye contact. "I never felt so great in my  _life._ " Truthfully, no, he did not trust Talon—but whom else would he trust? The boy sighed gently and just shook his head. "I don't know...I really don't know..."

Talon sat back onto his heels and grabbed blindly for his clothes. "Here." After checking all of the pockets in his pants, he found the key to Ezreal's restraints. He crawled lazily over to where the hands were pinned over Ezreal's head. Talon's penis hovered over the boy's face, decreasing in size, but still a little swollen, making him blush. It was smothered in the offwhite liquid from their lovemaking minutes before. With his hands liberated, Ezreal dropped his arms to his sides and stretched them. The tingled from lack of blood flow, like needles poking him from the inside out.

"Sit up, baby," Talon instructed. His hands pulled the blonde up by the hips, one coiling around his small waist and resting on his lower back. While their eyes met, the other brushed some hair from the boy's ethereal eyes. In his husky voice and a beguiling smile, he cooed, "Do you trust me now?" Without giving Ez time to answer, he lifted the boy into his lap and let his arms surround. Then, he pressed a warm, tender kiss onto Ezreal's lips, licking away the coagulating semen on his chin.

Thoughtless and nebulous, Ezreal just leaned into the embrace blindly, deciding to take what he was given. Talon was warm.

* * *

Darius, for years, was Swain's right-hand man. Before the man ascended to power, Darius looked down upon the capital; he spat their greedy, royal surnames whenever he reported to them. Whenever they would disappoint, the military would intervene directly. There were no bad followers, just bad leaders, and by using his high status in the Noxian army, would execute whoever he saw "unfit" for the place at the top of the ladder. For the longest time, nobody challenged him, the judge, jury, and executioner. When the enigmatic dark mage, Swain, presented himself, he saw a man who had potential in the field. Not only that, but Darius was able to  _respect_ him and his power. Ask either of them; never had their relationship become anything other than professional. Together, they hoped to unite Noxus, for if Noxus were united, the power they could acquire was beyond limit.

The general had taken a brief time off from the battlefield to discuss strategies with Swain. However, LeBlanc had drawn him to her own business quicker than he could realize. It was preposterous how seamlessly she could bend somebody's will, have them catering to her every need. She could probably convince him to scrub the dungeon floors if she tried. She had him carry the unresponsive, nude trespasser down to a holding cell where he would stay until they could figure out what to do with him. This in mind, the plans and motives of the mission varied depending on who he asked and how.

According to Talon's testament, the transaction was strictly between LeBlanc and himself. But if that were true, why was Swain involved?

According to Swain's testament, the gesture was a Noxian political opportunity to send Piltover a little wake-up call. But if that were true, why was LeBlanc involved?

According to LeBlanc's testament, she just wanted to scare the boy a little, play a little "mind game." But if that were true, why was Talon involved?

The three of them swirled around in Darius's head as a perplexing vortex. Nothing seemed to add up, but if he were to trust one person, it would be Swain. If there was one thing LeBlanc  _couldn't_ distort, it was his loyalty for Swain—for Noxus.

How he  _hated_ LeBlanc and everything she stood for. Her biggest defense was fake—her Mirror Image. The concept was a coward's, for she was too afraid to face her adversary that she used an  _illusion_ of confidence. What was behind her Mirror Image? Just a weak, feminine, timid woman who couldn't hold a sword if it were to save her life. Magic was barely her weapon, not in comparison to her malefic violet lips and the poison that seeped out from them, infecting the minds of the weak. But not him.

It was roughly eight o'clock. Darius heard the clock toll moments earlier from where he stood. He was making a quick walkthrough of the dungeon—the occupied part, that is. It would take weeks for him to navigate the labyrinth in its entirety. These walkthroughs were just to make sure that the inmates hadn't tried killing one another (or themselves) and that the guards weren't up to any foul play. The second rule was scarcely enforced, especially with the disciplinary room at the end of the hall. Nobody would prosecute since prisoners practically had no rights. Without a doubt, there was bound to be some sort of cursing, screaming, or crying echoing throughout the hallways.

The general's broad shoulders and grotesque armor barely fit down the narrow staircase leading down to the floor where "The Piltie" was being held. He was curious to see if the boy was awake, for if he did, he would be in dire need of some food and water. In Noxus, they very much preferred to keep their prisoners alive. If they didn't, how else would they be tortured? Upon finishing his descent, the corridor allowed his body some room to breathe a little. Ezreal was staying in a cell to the right-hand side with soundproof walls, designed to mentally chip away at somebody, for the only sound the heard was their own self. Darius approached the door with the set of keys in hand, all bound together by a brass ring. His eyes peered through the slit in the wall.

What he saw was unexpected—for starters, he could see  _something,_ and that room was so dark that the pigment hitting his eyes made him gasp. His eyes focused on the gentle tan of the skin who he assumed would be Ezreal's—but no. In fact, there were  _two_ nude bodies in the cell. Ezreal was one, but the second he couldn't recognize at a glance, since his back was turned to the door and his face was buried into the boy's neck, leaving various marks on the soft skin there.

Considering that the majority of the military was comprised of men, homosexuality was bound to occur. Darius wasn't oblivious of that. The fascinating question, however,  was who was the man with the long brown hair? A good guess would have been Talon, but Darius had never seen the man without a cowl over his head and, frankly, wasn't expecting hair that long to be hidden beneath it. Who else would it be? He chuckled to himself; Talon truly had no self-control, a common theme in soldiers and prisoners alike.

"He couldn't keep away for one evening, huh?"

Then came a response from the darkness. "Boys will be boys." The voice startled Darius. He knew whose it was—unmistakebly, it was The Deceiver, yet he was puzzled since, with her stilettos, the sound of her footsteps would be like gunshots. The woman appeared from the staircase he had taken moments before. Her shoes were missing, only her leggings covered her feet.

"LeBlanc," the general muttered grudgingly.

The woman proceeded to speak without acknowledging Darius's words. "You and both know it's plain immature...letting sex drive interfere with a professional matter, right? But it's amusing...Talon is a simple man, operating off of his pleasures, his instincts. He will  _never_ become a leader."

"People like him can still rise to power." It was bizarre; even though he sided with her on that statement, the fact that  _she_ said it made him want to think the opposite.

"Not if he wants to be persuasive. Trust me. Talon lives in the moment, works for what he wants. He is too impatient to do think further than two days. His little lovebird in there is a prime example. Suffice it to say that our agreement was to terrorize the boy and make him flee back to Piltover. The concept of terrorizing...of torture is not solely to cause pain or embarrassment in a constant. It is to break their will. Damage the way they see the world." LeBlanc's pale cheeks darkened a light scarlet above her contoured jawline. She peered into the small slit in the door and sighed. "He started off cruel, ruthless, and demanding, and now, they whisper sweet nothings into each other's ears like teenagers 'in love.' He just wants Ezreal to keep coming back. At first, he tried fear and, assessing Ezreal's reaction, Talon came to the conclusion that the hot-cold bad boy would suffice."

LeBlanc paused, flashing back to the small share of flirting she had partaken in with Swain. She knew very well that the gestures would bear no fruit. Maybe chasing pavements was just a way to pass the time. She hardly thought of why she did things; other people were more interesting.

"Does Ezreal know that he's nothing but a puppet held up by strings? Of course not. A desperate, naïve boy with a big ego will  _always_ think that people love him. He and Talon will be running in circles perpetually. Ezreal thinks the two are 'in love,' but in truth, Talon is a simple-minded man addicted to the idea of having power over somebody."

Darius nodded, duly noting her words. She was beyond cowardly, but LeBlanc was remarkably clever. It was worthy of applause. It was hard to refute her argument, so descriptive, yet it sounded like she pulled it out of her back pocket. "Wait up," he said, "So, his plan originally was to torture Ezreal?"

"He's barely relevant," LeBlanc said emotionlessly. "Just a pawn in this barbarous chess game. He has done the luring and the capturing but Swain and I are the ones who will  _really_ be getting the reward. Too bad."

Darius didn't even bother to ask how she managed to get Talon to do her dirty work. However, it didn't seem like the plan was turning out exactly how she wanted it to. But perhaps it was? Everything was so complex. If it were his choice, he would have beheaded the boy and carried on with his day. Swain had plans to negotiate Ezreal's safe return to Piltover, but everybody seemed to be on separate agendas. That fate was fading rather quickly. Darius was angry that the woman was getting away with deceiving one of their own. It was cruel, but if Swain was on board with the idea, it couldn't be  _that_ inhumane. Swain was a merciless leader, but he was not inhumane.

In the silence, rustling fabric noises came faintly from the cell. LeBlanc's slender index finger rose to her lips, warning him to keep quiet. A muffled conversation took place and moments later, Talon pushed the door open. The assassin's face turned pale and he quickly slipped out the door and closed it tightly behind him. The man was disheveled; his hair was secured in a slapdash ponytail in the back; his face was glazed with perspiration; his lips were beet red and swollen disproportionally; on top of that, his outfit was messily thrown together. The scent of scotch and "passion" lingered in his presence.

"Can I help you?" grumbled Talon coldly. His face made his exhaustion obvious and his voice was scruff. LeBlanc was unimpressed but not surprised. Her eyes instead clung to the journal tucked away underneath Talon's arm.

"I was wondering when you would finish up with him," teased the woman. Her arm snaked around Talon's shoulders. The gesture was rejected almost immediately. Talon writhed away from her. It was true, Talon was simple, but he was  _not_ dumb. The journal was securely fastened between his coiled fingers.

"Never thought you would be 'that' kind of guy," Darius interjected, defiantly crossing his arms over his massive chest. To this, Talon replied sharply, "I'm no goddamn cliché, that's for sure."

"Easy, now, we're all friends here, are we not?" LeBlanc asked; ironically, there was not one trustworthy relationship out of the three of them. They all knew it too.

"Does Ezreal need food? Water?" asked Darius, returning to his original reasoning for coming down.

"He may need something. He told me that he hadn't eaten since breakfast."

Darius exhaled dramatically. After LeBlanc's confusing speech, he felt unsettled around her.  _Dammit!_ he thought,  _She really is good! She'd make for a great ruler someday._ (Much like the rest of Noxus and all of Runeterra, Darius was clueless of The Black Rose's revival. There had been a spike in black magic use, but nobody knew of the once retired cult.) He lumbered up the stairs before having the chance to bid farewell. Then, there were two.

What of trust? The question returned to Talon suddenly upon gazing at The Deceiver. He clung to the diary like a child would to their teddy-bear. Meanwhile, LeBlanc's wicked smirk had disappeared as soon as Darius was out of sight. She had her behaviors—her truths and lies—compartmentalized and if one looked closely, they could find the exact moment her focus shifted. It went straight over Talon's head, naturally. He spoke up before the matron had the chance. "Remind me, LeBlanc, why did we bring Ezreal down here?"

 _Let the schmoozing begin,_ the sorceress thought to herself. She sat back on her staff idly with an icy gaze shooting his way. Why answer the daunting question when you can evade it with schmoozing? "Look me in the eyes, Talon. Who are we? Ask yourself. While different in temper, style, and execution, we are assassins. We are quick, deceptive, and unpredictable. Our job is to remain a step ahead of our enemies—and two steps ahead of our 'friends.' Okay, I know you may have your doubts, but really  _look_ at me and understand that  _I am on your side._ _"_

Goosebumps covered Talon from head to toe. LeBlanc's words swirled enigmatically in his brain, making him more suspicious but nonetheless drawing him closer. Something about the conviction in her voice had his spirit restless in its sleepy body. Her cryptic yellow eyes, resembling those of a black cat, captured his sight. Not even her queer headpiece, which often distracted him as she spoke, earned the smallest shred of his attention.

"Would  _I_ betray somebody just like me to aid the men who consider themselves _higher_ than us? Higher than everyone? Absurd! Disgusting!" she cried theatrically. "They think  _they_ are the ones in control...but control is but an illusion. Swain, Darius, Du Couteau...all of these names project confidence and superiority."

_Du Couteau._

"Peace comes when we accept that we are never truly in control. Those at the top are even blinder than the rest of us, sitting in cushioned chairs in the highest Noxian towers and thinking they are safeguarded. They think to themselves, 'None have power over  _me_ _._ They are too weak to defy me!' but a mere widdling knife in the right spot ends it for him...for anybody."

LeBlanc's sermon concluded and she landed daintily on the uneven cobblestone beneath her. " _That,_ dear Talon, is why I sleep so soundly at night." She paced by him, all the while, her eyes riveted to Talon's, like an invisible shackle had chained the two together at the pupils. When the gaze lifted, Talon felt almost...renewed—rejuvenated. Her words left a profound impact. "Check on the boy," she instructed. The man took a small peek into the darkness, where Ezreal laid unmoving. He must have fallen asleep, right there on the cold floor.

"Why don't you stay here, Talon," suggested LeBlanc as she began strolling down the hall further, her figure quickly fading into the darkness. "Guard your secret love. I should retire for the evening. Big day ahead tomorrow, I perceive." The murky shadows engulfed her and her only sign of existence was the clicking of her high heel shoes against the stone. Talon fell back against the wall exhaustedly, his empty hands crossing over his chest.

 _Empty hands?_ _The diary!_  Perplexed, Talon squinted and scanned the floor. Did he drop it, or something?

Then, Talon slapped himself on the forehead. "Dammit, LeBlanc!" In retrospect, Talon realized she must've taken it while she had him listening to her speech; blindly, he threw a knife down the hallway in her direction out of rage. "Damn _you_!" The knife sailed through the air and also disappeared into the black abyss of the hallway, where the lantern light diminished to nothing. Silently, he waited for the metal to hit the ground and bounce across the floor, but instead, he heard a voice shout in reply. It was not a graceful shout at that nor an angered one, just the sound of agonizing pain. Talon was astonished at first before a devious smile graced his lips. "Did I hit her?" he asked himself, trotting into the corridor hastily. Adrenaline was already infecting his blood flow.

Sure enough, he immediately smelled the metallic scent of fresh blood and heard a woman at his feet, struggling to breathe and convulsing from the pain. She laid face down on the ground, the knife standing erect where he'd thrown it, right between her shoulder blades. It pierced her cape effortlessly and surely the blade reached into her lungs, hindering her breathing. The sadistic Talon stood over her allowing his eyes to adjust to the lack of light and squatted down on her left side, where her cheek lay against masonry. Her eyes enlarged; small traces of blood fell from one corner of her mouth. "I thought we agreed...agreed that we would never turn our backs," he said, cruelly taunting her words from earlier that day. LeBlanc was speechless; the color was fading from her face, same for the light in her eyes.

"I didn't," croaked the woman weakly who, through her pain, was still able to turn her lips into a noxious smile. And after that single sentence, the woman huffed out her final breath softly. Her eyes and grin were haunting, malevolent, frozen in that position as her corpse laid there. Underneath her body was the journal, which Talon promptly scooped back into his possession. He never cared for his victims, nor what their faces or bodies looked like after their demise (unless he got a kick out or it,) but the vehement face the corpse made was enough to make Talon himself feel a chill.

But he had just assassinated somebody. He had no time to sit here and ponder it.

With that, Talon yanked the bloodied blade from her back disappeared down the hallway soundlessly.  _Funny,_ he thought to himself, seeing the sloppy engraving on the hilt of the blade.  _This is my boyhood widdling knife._

* * *

Darius returned to the dungeon floor with a tray in his hands. On it was a small plate with bread, a metal cup of water, and an orange, one of the more appetizing of the meals served to the prisoners. The general grumbled random phrases in indignation as he made his way down the narrow hallway. He was no servant. This was not his job. Nonetheless, it was imperative that Ezreal was fed enough to stay alive, especially if he was going to be the ball that Noxus and Piltover played tennis with.

Begrudgingly, he opened Ezreal's cell door, knowing the boy was probably still without clothes and that it probably reeked in there. He wasn't wrong. Ezreal was asleep in his little bed with a gentle snore, resting on his side with his limbs hanging off the board. Darius cleared his throat to announce his presence and immediately, Ezreal rose. His eyes took a moment to recognize the person in the room. Quickly realizing it wasn't Talon, he angled his body away so his nude body would be less visible.

"Eat up," Darius ordered. "I don't know what's going to happen to you, but I doubt your lover boy wants to see you starve to death in here."

Still drowsy, Ezreal eyed the tray in his hands, reluctantly turning over and reaching out to accept it. "Thanks...um..."

"Darius."

"Right." Ezreal grabbed the orange first and began to pick apart the cloak that nature had wrapped it in. His legs were practically hugged up against his chest so he could hide behind himself. Noting this, Darius just shook his head.

"I have more important things to do than to watch you eat. Someone else will come pick it up in an hour or so." He turned around hurriedly and was out the door in seconds. The both of them sighed in blissful relief as soon as they left each other.

The corridor was unusually silent. Not only that, but Talon was missing, as was LeBlanc (which was never really a surprise.) "LeBlanc?" he called out. When it came to LeBlanc, whenever somebody talked about her, you would get the feeling that she was right over your shoulder, witnessing every foul insult that came from your mouth. This time, Darius didn't feel that. The serenity was eerie. He walked down the hallway a little further, intermittently saying one of the two names until he, too, smelled it. Death and ghastly perfume. He didn't need to even look down at the corpse to predict that it was her.

Darius looked down to inspect the body for any cause-of-death, spotting the gash on her back. There really wasn't that much blood from the wound, which the general found peculiar. He's seen his fair share of stab wounds, but this one looked ungenuine, almost like a counterfeit. Adding to the curiosity, she had shoes on her feet. He remembered clearly that LeBlanc wore no shoes as she danced around on the stone without a sound.

Alas, a corpse was still a corpse. Darius lifted the barely cold body into his arms bridal style so he could report back to Swain.


	5. The Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Heads up!** This chapter contains the following:
> 
> -Minor sexual themes  
> -Minor age difference (17 and mid-20's)  
> -Minor violence  
> If you do not feel comfortable reading such material, I recommend not reading this chapter!

It was eight thirty when Darius surfaced from the dungeon. He was strong enough to hold the corpse with one arm and use the other to blockade the open wound. The marble floors were always spotless and it would feel like a sin to get even a drop of blood on it. Scrupulous, yet rushed, Darius climbed up the flights of stairs. But why was he in such a rush? The death of friends and colleagues shouldn't be a foreign feeling to Swain. Even if it was, the man wouldn't show it.

Darius began to wonder about the motive of LeBlanc's death. Evidence indicated that it was Talon's work, which puzzled him. There was no weapon in sight. Talon, too, vanished. He had to chuckle to himself. If LeBlanc viewed him as obtuse and insignificant, imagine how ironic it would be if she died thanks to him. She had given a grandiose speech about power, life, and deception all to be taken down by whom? A street rat?

Several handmaids and servants brushed by Darius on his trek up the stairs. They looked up a moment only to see who entered their presence. Finding out who the man was, their eyes dropped down to the floor. The body in his hands appeared unnoticed like this was standard procedure. Just another dead body, another soul slain by Noxus's unforgiving hands. Even if they took an interest, they were not at liberty to ask questions. Not of Darius.

Darius approached and scaled the last flight of stairs, facing the small corridor that led to the room at the end of the hallway. LeBlanc's motionless body hadn't grown colder since he found her. Her face still possessed the cruel smile she constantly wore, even in death. The flame of duplicity still burned in her eyes. He made the quick decision to slip her eyelids shut before he knocked urgently at the door. Swain's voice, inexpressive as always, summoned Darius inside.

"I have dire news to report," he said upon entering. As usual, Swain had his back to the door, standing in the vast window, overlooking the city. He could see the ruler's head nod obscurely at the comment. "LeBlanc...she's—"

"Speak not," demanded Swain sharply. "I'm aware." His words were emptier than usual. Darius rarely spoke with Swain past sundown and hadn't been in his quarters at night for months. By day, Jericho Swain was an active, dutiful, diligent person. By night, however, a melancholiness had set over him, enrapturing him like a cloak. He watched over the city, mesmerized, looking for any form of life. Watching the city and its people rest. It was lamentable, seeing such a perseverant and outspoken man so low by just the passage of time.

"Sir." Darius lumbered down the blue runner stretched in front of the door toward him, eyes on the lifeless body."Do you understand what's happened?"

And still, Swain seemed disinterested. He did not move. "While Noxus relaxes, I remain awake." His voice conveyed anger, impatience, frustration. Almost jealousy.

All of these emotions came to Darius. "You need to understand—"

"No." His voice cut through the air like a samurai's blade. "You're mistaken, Darius."

"Excuse me?" he retorted brazenly. "All due respect, sir, but you haven't even turned around—"

"LeBlanc is  _not_ dead, Darius. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if she were lurking somewhere in this very room."

Darius slapped a palm against his forehead. Stupid! LeBlanc would never go down that easy. There was no sweat on her forehead or white knuckles coiled into a cylinder where her staff once laid. It must be a Mirror Image that he held. That would explain why she suddenly had shoes on her feet, notably missing the first time he spotted her.

"Though...it's commendable that you'd run up the countless flights of stairs all to warn me of a fallen colleague," said Swain begrudgingly. A hollow sigh left his lungs. "For most of my..." The leader stalled. How would he address those who worked for him? Were they subjects? Employees? Servants? "...people, truthfully, it wouldn't concern me—their deaths. But I suppose individuals such as LeBlanc and yourself would be an exception."

LeBlanc's stepped forward from a lightless corner behind Swain's canopy bed. Curiously, she now had her shoes on, perhaps stolen from a separate clone of hers. "Aww, I'm flattered, Swain. Why don't you throw that on a card for my next birthday?" she asked blithely. Her eyes rolled over to Darius where her slain doppelgänger rested. It disturbed her profusely to see herself defeated, even her fake self. Without proper warning, LeBlanc fired a bolt of magic in Darius's direction. The energy was a deep violet in color, black at the core but with streaks of the unique color. It was only visible for a moment before striking her Mirror Image; the body then vaporized instantly. Into thin air. Pleased, the woman marched over to Swain's right side with her hands placed on one of his shoulders. With no surprise, Swain didn't acknowledge her.

Silently, Darius seethed at the woman's immature behavior; how could someone like  _her_ compare to somebody like himself? He was a decorated soldier, a stalwart worker, a reliable ally—and Swain compared him to _LeBlanc?_ Compared him to a foul anarchist? It made his blood boil. He needed to prove himself, to outperform LeBlanc. His ego would not allow himself to let somebody else capture Swain's attention, especially not her.

"You're here far earlier than the 'eleventh hour sharp,' as you had promised," observed Swain.

LeBlanc replied, "There's been some activity within the last hour or so."

"I'm not interested in hearing of Talon's sexual activity," he said coldly. "Have you any of his belongings? His gunblades? Other weapons?

"Not currently, no."

"Have you his journal?"

A pause. "No."

Only this captured Swain's attention, enough to release him from the bizarre trance. His eyes looked strained, blood vessels seeming to pop in the whites of his eyes, perhaps from stress or exhaustion. "Who has the journal, then?"

"Talon does. He has had it since this wild chase began."

"Then, what are you doing here, Emilia? For all you know, he could have sold the damned book by now but you feel the need to stay here horse around?"

"Oh,  _trust me_ ," assured LeBlanc. The words slithered out of her lips in an air whisper next to Swain's ear—soft, but resonant enough for Darius to hear several yards away. "Talon is a very simple man. This I've explained to Darius."

That conversation vexed Darius to the point where he couldn't even think straight. In fact, despite all of his pent-up jealous of LeBlanc, he couldn't keep up with it all. Swain was always the brains, he was always the brawn. He wouldn't give up, though, for Swain had mentioned that Ezreal could lead to negotiation between Noxus and Piltover, along with the start of a possible war. If Noxians got their hands and Piltoverian technology, they'd be able to decimate  _everything_ in their way. They did fairly well without their inventions, but there was always room for improvement. There was never such a thing as maximum power. More could always be seized elsewhere.

"What I mean is Talon will return for him, in time. It could be an hour or a day, even a week if he's patient enough. Be it for sex or money, he'll eventually wish to acquire both through our blonde-haired prisoner." Giving up on trying to pry Swain's metaphorical mask, she turned away from him and made her way toward the door. "Now, forgive me for leaving so soon, but I refuse to let death impede my ability to get what I deserve. Farewell, Swain. I may not be one for proper greetings but perhaps you can remember my theatrical goodbyes?" The sorceress held her staff tightly and waved it in an elliptical motion. The glittering gem illuminated rapidly, eradicating the melancholiness to replace it with the blue-violet hue. Suddenly, at once, a blinding flash beamed from her staff, causing Darius and even Swain to shield their eyes. By the time they looked again, the darkness had returned and LeBlanc was gone.

"I cannot stand people like her," Darius said bluntly to his boss. "Just because she is a woman, it doesn't give her permission to act so informally like that." Swain didn't reply to his statement, already returning to his spot at the window.

Nearly a minute of silence elapsed before Swain spoke up. "I hope you don't allow her to torment you like she does to all. I hope you know that what she says is riddled with lies and falsehoods. Do not listen to what she says unless I say you should. You've always remained loyal to me. Keep an eye on her, will you? Make sure she doesn't act against me. If she plans to betray my trust, I deserve to know. I don't want her killing anybody, especially not the boy."

"It would be an honor," he replied comically. "Let me grab my ax."

* * *

As the night progressed, Ezreal's cell grew cooler and cooler. Without the aid of two bodies to generate heat, the boy shivered in his cell. The menacing darkness devoured light, heat, excitement—any and all positive forms of energy at his disposal. The darkness sapped away at it all like a stingy leech. His arms wrapped around himself tightly. On the floor was his empty tray, the contents all consumed except for the scraps of orange peel. Initially, Ezreal feared that his cell would attract rats and other pests, but why would any living thing occupy  _that?_

He longed to be home again. He still resented Noxus and the flying monkeys that resided there. He longed to be home to hop in a warm shower, lathering his own body up in vanilla-scented body wash. He was able to pretend he was warm, enough so that he felt heat returning to his skin. He would roll his hair up in a towel and sit down at his desk, losing himself in a book, the best kind of friend he could have. He'd scribble thoughtlessly into his journal and throw himself into bed, hours after midnight. No matter what, Ezreal would  _never_  talk about what happened here. His ego would not allow it. He could imagine the girls from across the street, with whom he would share glances on his way home from the library, running away from him with their hands over their mouths, as if they were about to vomit. Talon would be his secret—his bloody, disgusting, beautiful, glorious secret.

Ezreal's groin and backside pounded with the beat of his heart, reminders of his sin from earlier. Wallowing in the aftermath, he did not look back upon the experience fondly—at least, his conscience didn't. The memory of Talon's groaning and incessant chants, saying "baby" sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Like a spoon being dropped into the garbage disposal. Like a banshee's wail. His innocence was irrevocably gone, like accidentally letting go of a balloon and watching it slip from his soft fingertips. That nickname invaded his mind and echoed interminably. Maybe it was the price to pay. Something so terrific and blissful had to have some sort of consequence. Guilt must be his. Perhaps he'd live like this the rest of his life with the disgust boring into his conscience, eating away at it like acid.

From the door, he could hear the doorknob moving. He sat up quickly, still hiding his body in case it was Darius. But luckily, it was not. Talon appeared forth, immediately making the boy's heart begin to speed up in his chest with excitement. However, given the man's rushed mannerisms, he could tell that he was not there for sex. In his hands was a small, tattered sack.

"What's that?" the blonde asked, half interested.

Talon glared up at him gravely, unforgivingly. There was no emotion in his dark eyes. "Ezreal, remember when you said you trusted me?"

He looked back up boyishly and innocently. He could not recall himself saying that but he nodded quickly. In the heat of the moment, he probably said so many things he may not have meant

"Come home with me," Talon said. Ezreal, sitting up straight on his "bed," made it up to Talon's chest. His eyes were resolute, filled with determination, making his cheeks burn with embarrassment. It was humiliating that just look on the man's face could attract him with ease, make him forget the guilt and regret from before.  _Focus,_ he'd tell himself. Talon was the same man who planned to rob him blind and beat him—he was still his rapist.

"What?"

"I killed somebody."

"Why should I care?"

Talon slammed his hands down onto Ezreal's indignantly. "'Why should you care?' I'm freeing you. You can escape with me. I don't think there's enough time to explain..." He glanced over his shoulder suspiciously. "I killed...LeBlanc. It was an accident. But I have a bad feeling that somebody wants vengeance and I don't want you to pay for it."

"You  _what?_ " the astonished male asked.

"I'll explain once we arrive at my—the place where I'm staying. I snatched all of your belongings and here are your clothes." He offered him the contents. "I'll get you a hot shower and a nice bed, I promise. Get ready now." His voice was threatening again. Not in the lustful way it had been earlier that evening with the leather on his neck, but soberly now. There was a realness in his tone that Ezreal felt he could not object to. Compliantly, Ezreal nodded. He reached into the bag, palming the garments anxiously. The back of his hand brushed against a smooth cover—the journal. He grinned to himself and snatched that with his clothes, dressing hastily. His outfit wasn't complicated since he was wearing just a jacket, trousers, a belt or two, et cetera. Talon held him by the wrist and pulled him out of the room, like a dog on a leash, as soon as he was fully dressed. Even the scarce lamplight felt like staring into the sun after being trapped in darkness for so long. He squinted in the light. "Do you know where you're going?" questioned Ezreal.

"I've been in these tunnels for years. Could probably make my way through blindfolded."

They took a hard left to the narrow staircase that Darius had walked down earlier. The explorer searched the walls instinctively for something, hieroglyphics, paintings, death notes—he only saw mildew and faded scarlet stains. As Talon dragged him up the uneven staircase, his fingertips brushed the stones in the wall absent-mindedly, like a blind man reading Braille. They scaled the staircase only leading to another and another, all foreign to Ezreal. He had journeyed all the way here to see what kind of secrets laid in the belly of Noxus and as of yet, he was unimpressed. What had he expected? Stones were going loose, some crooked and jutting out to trip him. The walls were, no doubt, built by slaves of generations before, he concluded—not just slaves but undisciplined, unsupervised slaves. The infrastructure was careless for the standards of Noxian tyranny.

The two walked for several minutes in silence, finally broken by Talon. "Wait." His voice was soft but bold. Ezreal froze. "Don't speak."

Silence filled the hallway again. At least, it was silent for Ezreal. Talon's sense of hearing was acute, far more acute than the average man. This skill developed when he was young, if somebody, anybody spoke up with words like "thief" or "shoplifter," he'd have to run. Part of the trick was knowing what to listen for. Talon listened for footsteps. Women's footsteps, he concluded, sounding like a horse's hooves in their high-heeled shoes.

"She's back?" Talon spat, reaching into his pocket for a long blade. "God-fucking-dammit," he mumbled, "I should've known." His arm guided Ezreal into a spot behind him protectively. Ezreal had the glove on his left hand—his weapon—aimed into the darkness. They were ready, so they thought. Her wicked laugh echoed down the hallway, a haunting voice from the grave. Talon couldn't sort out if the voice belonged to the true Deceiver or her dangerous illusions. The steps were growing louder and louder. It tantalized the two of them to wait in their spots for fate to meet up with them.

"Oh, Talon," taunted LeBlanc's voice. Ezreal squinted to locate the body that went with it, but she was still missing. "You couldn't possibly think I'd allow myself to build my reputation for years and years...just to be executed by a lucky shot from a rusting blade, did you? For someone as careless as yourself, especially? You knew in your heart that I wouldn't."

His cheeks tinged red angrily. "Maybe I did. I'm just an optimist."

Her tongue clicked. "No no, not an optimist. An optimist sees the beauty and the charm in everyone and everything. An optimist expects the best and continuously disappoints himself, for the world cannot compete with the perfect one he has in his mind. You, Talon, do not fit that description. You're just a dreamer."

"How do you figure?"

Finally, at the end of the hallway, the both of them could make out LeBlanc's silhouette. Her pale skin reflected some of the light, making her look ghostly. "Contrast to a realist. You love to waste your time basking in what could be instead of doing it what you can do now. You impetuously follow whatever instinct pops into your mind, whatever you think will get you to the thing that you want, regardless of if it is rational."

Talon's arms crossed over his chest. He was amused, wanting to see what sort of argument that the woman had stacked against him. He could see her mimicking the smile. "Realism is monotonous."

"Only in the extreme. Realists are what make the world go round—the scientists and tacticians. Dreamers may open the skies and shower the world with brilliant  _ideals,_ but the realist is the one who executes. This pertains to you because you were fascinated with the idea that you killed me when in fact, your brain knew I'm too obstinate to have my fate sealed so easily. Instead of focusing on really killing me, you fantasized about _what if_." LeBlanc sauntered confidently down the corridor, chin up. She wanted to savor the visible response Talon would make to what she would say. A picture is worth a thousand words. "Now, can you think of another example where you behaved such a way?"

A silence followed, but Ezreal could see Talon's hands clenched tightly by his sides, a knife in one.

"Oh,  _please._ Let us not ignore the elephant in the room.  _Du Couteau._ Your master. The celebrated general. I'm sure Ezreal doesn't know the story behind him, do you, child?" Her eyes shifted onto Ezreal. He felt like spiders were crawling up his limbs whenever he saw her. He opened his mouth to tell her that he indeed had done research about the scandal, but his voice had disappeared. "No? Why—allow me.

"Du Couteau was an expert strategist in the Noxian empire for years upon years. Thanks to his help, we successfully captured and gained control of points all over Runeterra with the ease. He was charismatic yet resolute, likable yet feared by those who were weaker than him. He climbed up the ranks effortlessly and acquired fortune and fame. Katarina and Cassiopeia are his two wonderful children, sharing his gift for combat. Du Couteau had sent orders to have Talon's head returned to him on a stick. He was and is an unapologetic thief and assassin and only he was able to defeat him in battle. Since that day, your lover-boy, Talon, had been obsequiously following his orders, half out of respect, half out of obligation. His power multiplied expeditiously.

"As the Ioanians believe, what goes around comes around. What goes up must come down, including people and their power. Inexplicably, the man was one day missing. He retired to bed the night before and vanished the day after. Bizarre, hmm? And since that day, Talon had worked tirelessly to find him. Am I wrong? Stop fighting it, Talon," she said. "You know he's gone. Never to be seen again. Use your brain, I dare you, this one time. Somebody like him doesn't outright disappear and never come back unless they are  _dead._ You know it."

"Shut up!" Talon growled intensely. "I don't know it— _you_ don't know it either!"

"And  _you_ are in denial, Talon. Your earliest memories you had spent alone. You grew up alone, from childhood on through early adolescence. Alone, desperately and hungrily inhaling the bread you'd stolen from Morgana's bakery. Alone on the dirty, rainy nights. Alone on holidays and birthdays. Du Couteau changed  _everything_ for you. He was a harsh, critical, and unforgiving master, but he was somebody. You'd relinquished all of your freedom for the attention of this man. You would spend hours upon hours training until your arms burned with exhaustion to impress him on the next job he gave you. He was the best thing that had ever happened to your dull, dog-eat-dog world, that in your boyish mind, would never be enough. And now, that man is gone. The closest thing to love and affection, eliminated from your life. If he were alive, he'd send a message, stir up controversy so the world knew he was, but he hasn't and he never will. Quit hurting yourself by turning your cheek and acting like I'm wrong. It's pitiful."

Rage incinerated Talon's body. He never wore his emotions on his sleeve so easily yet her description of him was terrifyingly accurate. It infuriated him that a stranger until last year knew him from the inside out. She read him like a magazine. "You're making all of this...bullshit up! You don't know me, nor him! He's somewhere!" Even in anger, his voice was softer and calmer than most men, like contrasting a boa constrictor to a viper.

LeBlanc's smiled a ghastly, bloody smile. "Me, Talon. It had never occurred to me how my actions had torn somebody apart so brutally—that's a lie. I just never gave it a second thought. Du Couteau was a persuasive young man capable of so much, too much. He was a threat to Noxus and its people, he and his political corruption. It was for the better, trust me."

 _"Trust you?"_ he retaliated indignantly. "Why should I trust you? This is part of your plan. Your real plan, to wear me down and take Ezreal from me. You'll never have him, LeBlanc, you two faced whore."

"Look at yourself. Have you ever asked yourself why you're so obsessed with this Piltie? Why you risk treason and forfeiting dignity for him? Why you're lovemaking is so intimate and addictive?" Ezreal blushed. "You turned your back on me and our plan because Ezreal's a loyal, dependable person, devoted to you, now. Forced or not, you thoroughly enjoy him, looking at you like you're the only man in the world. You're just a lonely boy in a vicious cycle. Du Couteau was your salvation, as is Ezreal. The only reason you haven't been thinking about him is because you like him more." LeBlanc's lips stopped moving and she simply observed the damage she had caused. Talon was fuming; Ezreal appeared confused and flustered (surprise there.)

She knew way too much to be lying, Talon had concluded. Her words and descriptions of how he felt made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"What a shame, Talon...I'll just have to take from you again. To apologize would be a cruel joke."

Instantly, as her sentence finished, Ezreal heard the sound of metal behind him. Something was coiling tightly around his wrists, reminding him of the shackles Talon put him in. Though when he looked down, there was nothing. Incredulously, he looked up at LeBlanc, who was already laughing cynically. The invisible forced suddenly jolted him backward, making him gasp and fall to the ground ungracefully.  _Ethereal Chains._ Heedlessly, he fired a Mystic Shot which, in his favor, broke the invisible chains. (How? He wasn't sure himself.) Talon impulsively through a knife as well. It had a perfectly straight trajectory and it dug into her sternum. LeBlanc's entire body shattered like an ice sculpture and crumbled to the ground. The shards of her body sounded like a hurricane of wind chimes striking the earth. 

"Try again," her voiced jeered from behind him now, directly where Ezreal stood. His head whirled around, only seeing Ezreal there. He was readying his weapon. The hallway rang in eerie silence, LeBlanc nowhere to be seen. Talon and Ezreal exchanged worried glances. They both had the same thoughts in mind: run. It wasn't like either of them to flee from an adversary, but LeBlanc had the advantage in every way.

LeBlanc's wicked laughs ricocheted off the walls. By the time they reached the men's ears, they were distorted and baleful. Talon wanted LeBlanc dead— he wanted to stab her like a pincushion and burn her corpse like she never existed. Ezreal too didn't want to run. He wanted to confront LeBlanc and fight her like a man. In the end, he knew that was likely never to happen, not with her evasive ways. He felt like he was in a horror movie. From his experience, the ones who didn't run didn't last very long.

They stumbled clumsily up the next flight of stairs. They were a door away from reaching an exit, but LeBlanc was on their tails. Even in her four-inch heels, she bolted down the hall just as fast as they had. It was fast enough to extinguish the burning torches that illuminate the hallway, making it look like darkness was chasing them too. Occasionally wisps of energy flew in their direction, hitting Talon and Ezreal's skin like splatters of boiling water. Ezreal fired another shot at her which hit her square in the stomach, but as she fell to the floor, another version of her stood directly behind her, identical to the others.  _Always a step ahead,_ Ezreal thought, discouraged.

The door was ahead, an unlocked door that they just had to push open and they'd be in the clear, back to civilization. Away from the poltergeist of a woman. Her laughs were ceaseless but refused to be less mortifying to listen to each time. Ezreal shot at the door that was a mere dozen yards ahead, blasting the wood away and creating a literal "light at the the end of the tunnel." Behind them, LeBlanc threw out a pair of pale blue chains, like the ones Ezreal had seen in the League of Legends. They latched onto them both, piercing straight through their physical forms and attaching to what felt like their souls. Panting and out of breath, the two men looked at each other gravely. Talon cursed out loud. "No escape..."

"Talon! Ez!"

A new voice shouted at them from the room at the end of the hallway. It belonged to a man, it was a deep voice, almost if not as deep as Talon's.

"Duck!"

Neither of them could identify whose command it was but they were desperate as all hell. They both halted and crouched and the moment they did, a large ax flew over the both of their heads, missing their scalps by mere centimeters. It flew right by them in a blur and landed with a thud. Not in the wall, not on the floor. It drilled right into LeBlanc's shoulder. The force knocked the woman down like a bowling pin and broke the chains instantly.

_Darius._

"Both of you, just run! Get out of here before she comes to! Quick!"

The two of them would never understand what possessed Darius to help them out like that. Their pride would keep them from asking.

* * *

The night was still young when the pair arrived at the Du Couteau residence. They both wheezed and struggled to breathe after their perilous run from the Noxian capital. Intrusive neighbors drew the blinds to see who was running outside in the streets at this dark hour. It was too late for the fathers of households to be returning from work—too early for the round of Saturday night drunkards to wander the streets, questioning if they'd missed their house.

Luckily, they wouldn't have to be stealthy to enter the house. Katarina was out on the town at a local tavern with some of her colleagues and lord knows where Cassiopeia was. Without General Du Couteau, the children had the house to themselves. Katarina and Cassiopeia had different mothers, both of whom their father refused to marry. They were likely the bastard children of tavern wenches, attractive young women, and inherited their beauty. The two suspected that Du Couteau was the father of several more children raised in Noxus and didn't bother to find their biological mother.

Talon seized entry into the home. It was far from modest; the foyer directly following the front door was furnished and polished down to the finest details, The floors, dangerously slippery, were fine granite, just like the palace at the heart of Noxus Prime. Hangings cluttered the wall in organized chaos, boastful declarations of family accomplishments. Portraits of ancestors whom Talon didn't know hung on the wall in front of them. Their stark pupils were there to witness all who entered the house. A maid dressed in black and white appeared, quickly offering to take his bag and his coat (which he declined. That bag wouldn't leave his sight as long as he stayed here.)

"I'm afraid we don't usually expect guests...forgive us for keeping the house so out of order," the maid with wavy black hair lamented, though the house looked cleaner than Ezreal's apartment had when he bought it. "We don't have a bed made for you."

"He'll be spending the night with me," Talon said shamelessly, snaking his muscular arm around Ezreal's body. The boy was suddenly conscientious of his breaths, quick and sloppy. It reminded him of the hours before and he tried his best to breathe slower without making his head spin. The maid nodded, curtsied, and disappeared into through a door on the right.

"I can't stay," Ezreal said in a dainty voice made weak by his breathlessness. "They'll know where I am."

"They can't get in here," Talon said blankly. He didn't elaborate, but something about the conviction in his voice reassured him. He guided them up the carpeted stairs, deep crimson in color. Talon's room was down the hall on the far left, past Katarina and Cassiopeia's, he pointed out, but he took the boy down in the opposite direction to the master bedroom instead.

Ezreal was surprised by how tidy and grandiose the house was as a whole. His surprise extended further than just the foyer; when Talon threw open the double doors to the quarters, he was mesmerized immediately, like a raindrop falling onto hot metal and vaporizing on contact. The room was exaggeratedly feminine for a stoic, ruthless military general—a black canopy bed with gradient streaks of blue streaming from the top—silk white blinds covering the windows—a mirror and women's dressing table with brushes and other tools for grooming—a silvery chandelier overhead. He assumed the living space was catered more toward the revolving women in the general's life. After all, his home was on the battlefield, not a pampered household. "Washroom is over on the right."

The bathroom was bigger than Ezreal's entire apartment. The entire room was carved from granite, still polished to perfection. There was a spacious porcelain tub to the right along with a granite chamber encased in glass where Ezreal presumed that the shower was. It was magnificent to stare at, but he felt as though it was not his to touch. It was so perfect and pristine that he felt that he'd ruin the room by touching it with his bare feet.

He was in desperate need of a good shower, though. Ezreal felt nauseous as he stripped out of his clothing again, half imagining that Talon's eyes bore holes into the door and witnessed him do so. He hoped that a wash would cleanse his conscience as well as his oily skin. He pulled the valve and let the water stream out of the showerhead. It was already warm enough that billows of steam puffed out like clouds and he happily stepped inside.

In the reflection of the glass, he could see temporary reminders of his sin. On the front, he could see his neck with haphazard purplish-blue bite marks throughout and the outline of a thick line where his collar had been. On the backside, he could see the small cut on his back from before which stung under the hot water. On his thighs, there were bruises in the shape of Talon's hands, enough to make him blush at the memory. Luckily, the longer he showered, the foggier the glass became and the more obscure the reflection became. He could instead focus on the soothing water that massaged his skin and the lavender soap in his hands.

Ezreal remained in the shower for at least twenty minutes before he turned the water off. He buried himself in a fluffy towel left on the sink, hair and all. His shower made him feel lively and dignified again.

When he exited the bathroom and entered the dark bedroom, cold air blasted him from all directions and had him shivering. Talon found the response comical and chuckled from where he lay, in the extravagant bed. He had no clothes on from what the boy could see, waist up. He himself was only cloaked in the towel he had used.

"Do you have any...a uh...change of clothes I could slip on?" Ezreal asked bashfully.

Talon shook his head. "Don't worry, what you're wearing now will do nicely," he jeered, knowing very well that Ezreal was nude underneath his small wrap. The boy fell silent and embarrassed. "Come on over, Ez. I don't bite."

"Tell that to my neck."

"It's an expression, baby."

The nickname, there it was again, sounding like an opera singer belting out a note high enough to shatter glass. "We nearly got our asses kicked ten minutes ago and you're already focusing on sex?" cried Ezreal, exasperated and embarrassed. His face was beet red, accentuating the blue tattoos under his eyes.

"I'm just trying to fool around, try to forget about it. LeBlanc...she's a feisty one." Talon sunk down onto his pillow with a roll of his eyes. "The appalling part about her is that she was right about everything. She's so damn...freaky."

Ezreal bit into his bottom lip, taking reluctant steps closer to Talon's bed. He hadn't realized how vulnerable Talon was. He was a man who never cared to tell anybody about his hardships and struggles. He had secrets and enigmatic ways. LeBlanc had unearthed all of that in a single evening. "Everything was true?" asked Ezreal. "Like...what she said about Du Couteau, and that you—"

"You don't have to say that out loud," he chastised. He rolled over onto his side to face away from Ezreal. "But you're right."

Ezreal breathed out softly and seated himself on the mattress. He rested his face in his hands, shaking his head. "Boy...never knew any of that."

"Why should you have known? I don't want people's sympathy. They don't need to know my story if they don't already. Besides, you're just a kid. I couldn't expect you to understand."

Ezreal took the last comment a little personally but he kept his mouth shut. (If he wanted to look mature, he shouldn't get disgruntled by such a comment.) "I'm sorry. For misjudging you."

"I  _just_ told you I don't need your sympathy, dammit. Just lie down and get some rest."

Ezreal sighed loudly. He fell back onto the pillow, his golden hair was still damp and clinging to his face. Since Talon was still facing away from him, it made it easier to wriggle out of the soggy towel. The air around him prickled his skin and he pulled the thick blankets over him. Before he could settle in, Talon's arms were already pulling him into a hug, hands gliding over his skin down to his hips. He was treated with kisses on the back of his neck, much gentler than the ones from before. Ezreal looked over his shoulder, greeted by impatient, hungry brown eyes. Talon turned Ezreal over, chuckling while he tried to hide his body again. He shifted closer to him on the fluffy mattress, drawing Ezreal in for a tender embrace. The boy couldn't resist him. He could tell himself over and over that Talon was a Noxian, an assassin, and untrustworthy, but he was too weak to his temptation. Their lips carelessly brushed against one another, making the both of them smile. 

"One more?" asked Talon, taunting but friendly. And how could Ezreal say no?

For the third time that day, they'd make love. Unlike the previous times, there were no pained cries or obscene nicknames. There were no chains, collars, or whips. The two were passionate but restrained. Ezreal bit his tongue to suppress his pleasure, whimpering softly. Talon was able to please his partner but not overwhelm him, rocking rhythmically into the boy's hips. They hardly spoke and just concentrated on making each other reach their own utopia. Their heavy breathing and occasional grunts were adequate means of communication. When the time came, Ezreal's freshly cleaned body was tainted with both of their loads of semen. Talon wiped the fluid off of him with Ezreal's tower and they rested in each other's arms again. Amorous odors lulled Ezreal to the edge of consciousness.

Downstairs, he could hear somebody singing, a quaint alto. She sounded a little drunk, enough to make herself carefree and loose-sounding, but nonetheless charming. "Who's that?" he asked sheepishly. He may have dreamt the whole thing up.

"Looks like Katarina's home. She sings a little when she doesn't think anyone's around. Just...ignore her..."

Despite that command, he could still hear her drifting through the floorboards as his eyes grew heavier and heavier...

 _I feel like I'm a hopeless romantic._  
_I can't help falling in love._  
_I fiend for love. I want it, I crave it._  
_I just can't get enough._  
  
_Take me away._  
_I wear my heart on my sleeve,_  
_Always let love take the lead._  
_I may be a little naïve, yeah,_  
  
_You know I'm drunk on love,_  
_Drunk on love,_  
_Nothing can sober me up._  
_It's all that I need..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've enjoyed reading!
> 
> As for Du Couteau and The Black Rose, that's my theory on it all. LeBlanc got rid of Du Couteau because he was so powerful and she wanted to tip the scales a little bit. It may not be entirely accurate, but hey.
> 
> The song featured at the end is "Drunk On Love" by Rihanna.
> 
> I plan on continuing to write about League of Legends in the future. If anybody has a request or a pairing that they want me to write about, I'm all ears.


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